Noose
by Antoinette95
Summary: Balance is key to life, and the pack will soon discover how far some will go to keep it. As hunters descend upon the town, the pack is thrown into chaos. Relationships are tested and broken, the body count is racking up, and an old enemy is set on a path of uncontrollable revenge. the noose tightens its hold, and this time perhaps, there is no stopping it. Sequel to Stand. Enjoy!
1. Prologue

Chris Argent woke before the sun could rise, promptly at five thirty. He stopped by Allison's room, gently pushing open her door. A small smile touched his lips when he saw her snoozing peacefully under a mound of blankets. It was one of those few times she hadn't awakened screaming since eliminating the alphas. Right now she looked like a normal, sweet teenage girl, not a fearless hunter. It was times like these when he questioned dragging her into the dangerous world of hunting. Did he do the right thing by allowing Gerard to get close to her?

He snapped the door shut and continued on to the bathroom. He stripped and paused in front of the full length mirror, inspecting the new scars on his body. They were nothing more than pink, puckered lines now, but he couldn't forget the wolf that had given them to him. It had been a young girl maybe no older than his own daughter. What was worse was the fear he saw in her crimson irises. She was not a killer; but he'd put a bullet between her eyes with limited hesitation.

A shiver ran up his spine at the memory. No matter how justifiable their cause, in the end they were only killing children. Most of the creatures they hunted were younger than twenty-five; naïve children that managed to get caught in a deadly web. And with every hunt came the daunting task of taking a life. Yes, there were definitely monsters in the world; but more often than not there was not a line in which to distinguish. He berated himself as he stepped under the hot spray.

A hunter was not supposed to display emotion; they had a code and they followed it to the letter. There was no time for wishy-washy people in the business; you were in for life. Chris couldn't help but question everything he stood for. Scott and his friends were the blame for his confliction. Despite the fact that they were monsters they'd intentionally put themselves in harm's way to protect the people of Beacon Hills.

He scrubbed his body until the skin was red and raw, pushing the conflicting thoughts from his mind. He could focus on his own demons after his little girl moved out, but for the moment he had to concentrate on her. He stepped out of the shower and slipped into jeans and a clean white t-shirt. He stepped into the hallway, stowing a small pistol in the waistband of his pants. Years of training had taught him to always be prepared to kill, human or beast. Down the hall, he heard Allison's faint snores and tiptoed down the stairs. He could already smell the tantalizing aroma of fresh coffee brewing; investing in the automatic coffee maker was a great idea.

He disabled the security alarm and stepped outside into the dawn, eyes raking over the silent street. The sun was finally peeking over the distant roof tops, its' rays of pinks and oranges dominating the last of the dark blues and grays. The first of the birds were stirring, softly serenading the beginning of a new day. The freshly mowed lawns winked as the light captured the newly formed dew. The tree tops whispered to each other as a soft wind kissed them. On the gentle breeze was the alluring scent of autumn and all is' promises.

The neighborhood itself had just begun to wake. As if on some unforeseen cue, the bedroom lights across the street clicked on; followed then by the next two houses, then the next three. He watched the synchronized awakening serenely, reveling in the peace of things. That was all he and Victoria had wanted when relocating here; a peaceful environment to raise their daughter away from the supernatural.

Little bells chimed and he turned his head to see the postal boy riding up on a beat up bicycle. The "boy" in question was really a twenty three year old man, but it was no secret that he was slow and lived with his mother. Chris had a soft spot for him namely because the kid had been abandoned by his father when he was just a child.

The boy, Leo, clambered off of the bike and hesitantly came up the drive. He kept his head down and fidgeted with his clothing the entire way. Chris understood this to be from years of people mentally abusing the already broken boy. Again his mind wandered back to distinguishing real monsters, but he ignored it. He met Leo half way and extended a hand in greeting.

"Good morning Leo. How are things at home?" he kept his voice soft and gentle, so as not to frighten him.

Leo bit his lip. "Mom is sick. I'm scared." He refused to speak more after that. Chris patted his shoulder comfortingly. "Take good care of her, son."

The boy nodded vigorously before loping back to his bike and moving on. Chris waited until he disappeared, before realizing that he hadn't even gotten his mail. Oh well, there wasn't really much to expect anyway. He turned and went back inside, moving to the kitchen. He heard the shower running upstairs and set about making breakfast for the two of them. He flicked on the radio to the country station as he pulled down fresh bagels and fruit. He didn't listen often, but when he did it had to be the good stuff. A simple piece by Tim McGraw- Live Like You Were Dying- started its opening cords while he put on the eggs.

He toasted the bagels and sliced the fruit while the bacon popped and sizzled in the pan. A soft smile touched his lips, recalling the last time he'd made breakfast with Allison. His daughter was many things, extremely talented even, but boiling water seemed difficult for her. Like her other failed endeavors-poetry, singing, art, etc. - cooking was just something best to avoid. It wasn't the fact that she'd scorched the meal to unrecognizable chunks, more so the fact that she had stared him down while he force fed himself. It was not an experience worth repeating.

"Dad?" Allison asked, coming down the stairs. He wiped his hands on a dish towel, turned off the stove and radio, and then poked his head around the corner.

"Morning Allie. Come on, food's done." She blushed at the pet name he'd given her some time ago. She sat at the table while he served the food, twisting her damp hair up into a loose ponytail.

In his complete biased opinion she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. She took after her mother in some ways, but the Argent genes were strong in her face and eyes. She blushed heavier under his innocent scrutiny and dug into her plate. He ate his food slowly, savoring the time he had with her.

It occurred to him that in just one year she would be leaving for college. His little Allie, the girl who used to twirl around in a lime green tutu, was almost an adult. She wasn't his little Allie anymore, but he couldn't see her any other way. He still saw the lopsided pigtails and sticky smiles from stolen sweets. He still heard her melodic laughter and innocent queries. He couldn't comprehend how fast the time had slipped from him.

He was watching her face, forever frozen at nine years old, before he realized she was talking to him. "Dad, someone's at the door. Do you want me to get it?"

"No, finishing eating. I'll get it; it's probably Leo." He lied smoothly and walked to the front door. He pressed himself against the door and pulled out the small weapon before looking through the peep hole. A slender blonde man in a black trench coat stood there waiting. Chris slowly opened the door a crack, assessing the man.

"Chris, before you say anything just know that this comes from sources higher than even your influence. The Code has been broken and there needs to be retribution." The man shoved a plain white envelope in his hands and retreated without a backward glance.

Chris closed the door and ripped open the parcel. A thin piece of paper no larger than a sticky note fluttered to the ground. He bent to pick it up and paused before his hands could touch it. His heart was thudding in his ears, his blood as cold as ice. With shaky fingers he finally picked up the paper, unconsciously running his thumb over the gold and silver medieval shield. The ruby swords pierced its sides, each inscribed in ancient Latin. Rivulets of red outlined the swords and shield, the source a severed wolf head. This was not good.

He heard Allison come in and quickly composed himself. She didn't ask him anything, just kissed him before heading to her car. He listened to her drive away before crumbling again. This was unimaginably bad for everyone now, including the humans involved. He didn't know what had caused this, but the wolf pack had to be warned. It wasn't just that hunters were invading the town. No, this went much deeper, but the source of such a thing had to be born of evil. Hale had no idea what was coming for him…


	2. Time

_People say time heals all wounds… I say time heals wounds but scars are left to remind you what you have been through and survive…_

Derek had seen more evil than he would care to admit. He'd seen the darkest of the human and inhuman souls behind the gilded masks of innocence. In the end they did what they pleased, used who they could, took what they wanted, without remorse or thought of the repercussions of the surrounding world. He'd often questioned if this was the basic nature of all creatures, to steal and murder and cheat to achieve their selfish desires. For years he'd looked for the black widow hidden in the tender smiles and soft eyes. He'd looked, and time and time again he was disappointed to not find a pure heart. But he had been wrong in his assumptions that tender hearted people did not exist. For all their faults, the rag tag teens that made his pack were loyal and more often than not acted to protect their loved ones.

He looked down at the slumbering teen in his arms. The boy's face was smooth and peaceful in sleep; his lips were slightly parted, breathing hot breath on his chest. His chest rose and fell evenly, his natural sporadic heart beat keeping pace. Gentle warmth radiated from his still form, despite the chill in his room. Derek inhaled, and his scent wafted up his nose. He pressed his nose into the boy's thick and fluffy hair, drawing in the delicious aroma. The boy's scent was intoxicating; a light blend of each pack member infused with his natural smell and of course Derek's own. The boy was annoying, sarcastic, stubborn, a pain in the ass, but he was loyal and strong unlike most humans his age. Derek had to admire those traits that made his mate.

He drew the boy closer to his chest, pressing his lips to his forehead. The boy mumbled something incoherently before snuggling against him. The boy's arms wrapped around his torso and he sighed contentedly. Derek's chest rumbled in pleasure at the closeness. He was not a man of many words, didn't really express his feelings like any normal person. To date he'd only ever said "I love you" six times, and even those times had taken some form of premeditation. But that did not mean he was without emotion. He did love Stiles, had truly accepted that without him he was half a man.

He shivered, remembering those brief hours when Stiles had been in the alphas' hands. He didn't know what all they had actually done to him, and he was reluctant to share. But Derek could only imagine the horrors. He knew how some alphas, when obliterating a pack, would torture and force the weaker wolves into submission; they'd do it in any form or fashion. Derek only hoped that one day Stiles would be willing to share, to tell him how to make it better. He wouldn't allow the boy to ever get hurt like that again, to be put in such danger. He was older now and more mature than he had been a year ago, but fact remained that Stiles was human, and therefore an easy target to Derek's enemies.

Derek yawned quietly and listened to the sheriff start getting ready for work. He knew that in about fifteen minutes he'd need to be gone or risk discovery, but he didn't want to leave the tranquil scene just yet. The sun had just begun to filter through the window, the light falling on Stiles face. His hair appeared bronze, topaz even in the early dawn. One ray caught a half hidden bruise on his collar bone, a fact which made Derek smirk with pride. The impression of his teeth was undeniable, telling anyone who happened to get curious that the boy was claimed, that he was and always would be _his. _

He cupped his face gently and pressed his lips against Stiles. They were soft and inviting. His breath hitched, and then slowly they responded. The boy's amber eyes slid open and he fixed Derek with a sleepy, adoring gaze. Derek repeated the action again, holding the boy until he squirmed. "Derek…" he whined against his neck.

"Your dad is up and you need to get ready for school." He murmured into his hair. He suppressed a smile when the teen groaned.

"Dude, I'm sooo not ready to deal with Mr. Harris again. Need more sleepy time."

Derek rolled his eyes and detangled himself from the teen. He picked up his shirt and slipped it over his head before pulling on his shoes. Stiles grumbled and slipped out of bed and went to his closet, pulling out a pair of jeans and a body fitting green t-shirt.

Stiles kept his back to him and stripped to his boxers. Derek allowed his eyes to roam up the toned body. He wasn't bulky or buff as they said, but there were certainly well developed muscles. His eyes raked up the planes of his back and Derek had the odd compulsion to nibble on those bare shoulders. He bit back the urge turned towards the window.

It was becoming somewhat of an issue to simply ignore the hormones and lush rolling off of the teen or his own wants. Derek had made it perfectly clear to Stiles that under no circumstances were they having sex until he was eighteen. He knew that he and Stiles were soon to be bonded for life, but he was still much older than the boy. Not to mention his dad was the sheriff…and had it in for him. He refused to even acknowledge the darker reason for remaining abstinent. He squeezed his eyes against the dark desires of his wolf, desires that would hurt his mate in unimaginable ways.

Stiles cleared his throat and Derek turned to him. The boy rubbed at his eyes, cheeks slightly flushed. "Will you be here after school?"

Derek shook his head and opened the window. "Actually we were going to meet at my place, start working on the kitchen and living room area."

The boy nodded and came over to him, hesitantly kissing him again. "See you later then."

* * *

Stiles pulled his jeep into the first available parking space he saw, cutting off a pinched face blonde and cronies. She scowled at him and flipped him off before speeding away. He bit back a laugh and killed the ignition, fishing around in the glove compartment for his medicine and student Id. He was determined to not piss off his teachers on his first day back, so he quickly dry swallowed three pills. He sat up and examined himself in the rearview mirror. His skin was slightly flushed; his newly grown out hair somewhat hung in his face; his eyes weren't blood shot.

He sighed and leaned far back in the car seat. He wasn't sure what to expect this year, now with the alphas gone and a sense of peace finally within their grasp. They were still searching for Gerard but really nothing was to come of it. He was fairly certain the old man had died and rotted somewhere in the mountain by now.

The jeep shook and he turned wildly to the passenger seat, arms flailing around him. Isaac had plopped down into the worn leather seat, his unruly hair slightly damp, brown eyes wide with excitement. Stiles grinned and imagined him with a wagging tail.

Recently the lanky teen had taken to following him around and hanging out with him. At first Stiles felt guilty, as if he was betraying Scott; but after careful pussyfooting around the issue he had realized that Scott was still no doubt his best friend, but Isaac was different. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he felt very protective of him, as if he were the older brother. If any of them had had a terrible past it was him.

He'd lost everyone he loved, and Stiles understood the loneliness he must still possess even in a wolf pack. He put on a brave face for everyone and acted like a strong, independent, man, but Stiles saw the abused boys hidden behind the smug grins. His insides burned at the thought that anyone would actually hurt Isaac, let alone torture him for years. He wasn't callous enough to say Mr. Lahey deserved death, but a good thrashing would have sufficed.

Still, that definitely didn't excuse giving him a heart attack. "Remind me to get you all bells or something for Christmas," he grumbled.

Isaac laughed at him. "Like Derek would actually let you. He puts up with the dog jokes, but I'm sure he'd maul you if you bought us collars."

He scoffed. "Whatever, I already bought him a leash and doggy pen." The two exploded with uncontrollable laughter, earning themselves strange looks from others around them.

They finally settled down into comfortable silence, watching the parking lot fill with students and teachers. Stiles watched a particular group with interest. They'd pulled the forest green Hummer into a parking space far from any other car. About six teenagers piled out, stern expressions on their face. The tallest of the group sported sandy blonde hair and pale green eyes. His skin was pale, but it fit his icy exterior. He radiated the power of a natural leader, leaving no surprise when the group adhered to him. Two of the more muscular boys could pass as twins, if their identical brown eyes and black hair was any indication. The only female of the group snowy white locks that fell to her slender waist; her eyes were as blue as sapphires. Another boy stood just behind her, a caramel colored hand resting on her shoulders. His hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail at the nape of his neck, a few strands falling into his chocolate eyes. Stiles almost overlooked the last boy. He was the runt of the litter, standing maybe five-six. He was scrawny and looked out of place among the group of confident teenagers. What made him stand out was his close resemblance to Allison. Was he a relative of sorts?

He reluctantly turned from them when he felt Isaac's nose press just into his neck. He had somewhat grown accustomed to being sniffed by the others. They did it often enough that it seemed almost normal, and he felt oddly cold on days they didn't scent him. From what he could gather it was a way of comfort for them when they were far from Derek, and since he was the alpha's mate he carried it well. Yet it did create awkward situations. For instance, it wasn't exactly a laughing matter when your best friend cornered you after a fresh shower and went as far as to _lick_ him- he still couldn't quite meet Scott's eyes.

Isaac pulled away and fixed him with large, innocent eyes. Stiles resisted the urge to scratch him behind the ears- something he'd found the wolves to enjoy- and settled for petting his fluffy hair. "Sorry, you just smell…" his voice trailed off and his cheeks flushed. He turned away and looked at nothing in particular out the window. Stiles knew what he wanted to say; it wasn't the first time it had been said. _You smell like my younger brother used to…like love. _One thing the others would never understand was that behind the hard exterior Isaac was a softie, fiercely loyal, and still a lonely kid.

He threw an arm around his shoulder. "C'mon, let's find the other rejects."

They climbed from the jeep and joined the sea of students. He looked at the strange group of teens and found them openly staring at Isaac. The back of his neck tickled, but he turned away and pushed into the school building. Isaac grabbed his elbow and gently guided him to an empty classroom off the end of the hall.

They pushed the door open and were welcomed by the pack. Erica was sitting on the teacher's desk, Boyd standing behind her. Lydia was inspecting her flawless makeup in a small mirror, a sad smile on her lips. Jackson had not returned from visiting his parents and hadn't contacted them in about a week. They were growing uneasy, but were willing to wait until she demanded his return. Scott was fussing with his mess of curly brown hair, a pathetic whine slipping from his lips every time a small patch popped up. Allison was looking out the window pensively, her arms crossed over her chest. They had to be the weirdest group of teenagers in the school.

He sidled up next to Lydia and placed a tiny kiss on her cheek. She grinned and returned the gesture. "Hey there, sleep good…or at all?" she let the sentence hang in the air, wagging her eyebrow mischievously. Stiles ducked his head, his cheeks flaming red. The others looked around for his answer, clearly interested in his non-existent sex life. "Nothing. I slept and he scowled all night."

They looked each other skeptically. It was common knowledge that they had a bet going on when Derek would take his virginity. He could have brushed it off and even participated in it had it not been for Peter placing his own bet. That was just wrong to think about on any level. And Lydia was adamant about getting full disclosure when it happened, a video even. Actually, that didn't surprise him as much as he thought it would.

Lydia fingered his shirt collar. "This doesn't look like an innocent bruise though…" she pulled his sleeve down, exposing his love bite to the pack. They crowded to get a look, the girls giggling over it. Scott looked troubled, but there was a happy glint in his eyes. Boyd was displaying a rare emotion of open curiosity and Isaac was pressing against him.

He groaned. "That….well that was just a little thing that happened…it's no big deal." Lydia opened her mouth to say more, but was interrupted when the classroom door opened. Iris peeked in, her Chestnut brown hair falling over her shoulders. She grinned at them and made her way inside, closing the door behind her.

Isaac straightened immediately at the sight of his girlfriend, face burning red. Iris kept him grounded to reality, made him more humble in ways he hadn't been in the beginning. He shyly embraced her, his lips ghosting across her lips. Stiles had never seen him more insecure, protective, or careful than when he was with her. She was unaware of what they all-sans Stiles- really were, but if Derek agreed she soon would know and have a decision to stay human or change.

"I hope you guys don't mind if I steal him away for a few minutes do you?" she asked jokingly. The one thing Stiles did admire was that unlike Scott, Isaac managed to keep a balance between his friends and girlfriend; he didn't single one out over the other. They nodded their approval and the couple disappeared.

They spent the remainder of the time badgering Stiles about his "sex life" which he continually pointed out did not exist, until the bell rang for homeroom. Stiles pulled his back pack strap over his shoulder and pounded his way up the stairs to Coach Finstock's classroom, blatantly unaware of Allison's male look alike trailing behind.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Hey Readers. So this is the Sequel to my first Story Stand! If you haven't read it I suggest you do, because some events there foreshadow happenings in this story. It's going to be slower paced and hopefully longer than Stand because it's a huge puzzle and the way it plays out can't be rushed. But anyway, please review and tell me what you think because that makes writing a hell of a lot easier. Thanks! **


	3. Changes

It's amazing how fast things and people change. One minute they adore you, will go out of their way to please you; and the next minute they are wary of your very presence, unconsciously cringing when you walk by. You go from the subject of admirable gossip to the heated debates questioning your very sanity and innocence. And it happens all so quickly that you become blindsided by the blow and left unable to cope with the crushing despair that you were always alone, just teetering on the edges of society. That was the simple truth of popularity.

Lydia kept this thought firmly in mind as she strut down the crowded hallway, chin held high and eyes forward. The students parted before her like the Red Sea had for Moses, some openly gawking while others whispered behind their hands. The thick aroma of curiosity, fear, lust, and envy wafted up her nose as she walked by. She smirked and flipped her curls over her shoulder. It didn't bother her too much that she was the discussion of gossip once again- after the summer events it was to be expected. (It had somehow leaked out that she and the others were somehow involved in the fire that burned down Isaac's old house.)

She spotted Danny shutting his locker and made a beeline for him. Her heart thudded with anticipation and hope. Maybe Jackson had contacted his best friend in the last week; maybe there was little for her to worry about. Danny and Jackson had been close as long as she could remember. She wasn't proud to admit it, but sometimes she found herself jealous of the relationship they shared. Maybe it was the fact that the relationship wasn't built on physical attraction but genuine like; maybe it was because Danny was always Jackson's wing man; or maybe it was that she had so little self confidence she felt insignificant next to him. Whatever the reason she had done her best to rid herself of the envy and if Jackson had ignored the pack to talk with Danny she wouldn't get pissed…much.

She sidled up next to him and lay a hand on his shoulder. He jumped slightly and looked down at her warily. She grimaced inwardly. People weren't quite used to her personality change, and she'd never actually held a conversation with someone that wasn't in some way condescending. "Hey Danny, you got a minute to spare?"

He shifted his backpack on his shoulder. "Ummm, sure I guess." They started down the hall, heading nowhere in particular. Lydia kept her arm firmly on his elbow, feeling a strong urge to protect him. Derek had told them that their wolves were protective and possessive, and that sometimes they would scent humans they cared about as a way of warding off other wolves. It weighed heavy upon her conscious that she had yet to behave in this manner with her own parents.

They rounded the corner and stopped in front of the gleaming trophy case. Danny chose to concentrate the names written in neat scrawls on the gold and silver trophies. The majority of them were won by Jackson and star athletes before him, but a small few belonged to the science and math department and fine arts department. She felt pride swell in her breast as she looked at the smallest trophy tucked just behind that year's lacrosse championship trophy. The gold beaker rested on sleek, hand carved oak wood, a platinum and gold atom leaning against it. The national scholastic championship trophy had been in their possession since her freshman year…the year she stamped out the stuck up Meadow Ridge Academy. It had been a great moment, one of the times she'd truly felt worth something.

She tore her eyes away and pulled herself back into the here and now. "Danny I was wondering if you've heard from Jackson maybe?" she tried to sound nonchalant, but her voice faltered at the end. Part of her wanted to know, but the weaker part wanted to remain blissfully ignorant. What if he hadn't contacted anyone? Was he in danger or was he just unable to reach them? She fought to maintain her composure when the gangly teen turned his brown eyes on her curiously.

"No, he hasn't. Why, is something wrong? Did something happen?" he raised an eyebrow imploringly.

Lydia kept her face blank at the flood of emotions she read off of him. There was a hint of annoyance and jealousy, but overall concern. She wasn't sure how much she could tell Danny without opening a can of worms that should be left alone. He was human, and though she knew without a shadow of a doubt he was their loyal friend, he couldn't be put into that danger. Once you were dragged in there was little that could be done to pull you out again. She didn't want that for the sweet boy; not after what she'd seen.

Danny reached out and gripped her shoulders, forcing her to make eye contact. "Lydia, what aren't you telling me?"

She felt comfort from his touch. It was familiar, almost pack like. There was a faint aura that swirled around him, screaming latent werewolf potential. Derek had once told them that he could sometimes tell who would make the best wolves, and now she had an idea why. The boy radiated self confidence and strength, as if born to be one of them.

"It's nothing Danny, I was just wondering." She turned to walk away when he latched on to her wrist. It didn't hurt; it just caught her by surprise. Her instincts drove to the forefront of her mind. _Protect! _She spun on her heel, ready to snap the arm of her attacker before she caught herself. Danny released her and took a hasty step back, his eyes growing large and confused. Guilt pooled in her stomach. She'd almost attacked a human, a human who'd been her friend since elementary school. She ran a hand through her hair nervously and stared at the ground.

His heart gradually slowed down, and his breathing evened. Lydia couldn't bring herself to look at him. Her self control was fading; she could feel her humanity slipping away. How could she almost attack Danny? He hadn't harmed her, had only tried to get her attention. She closed her eyes against the image of his blood spreading in a dark pool across the tiled floor, his throat within her jaws. She wasn't a monster, wasn't a killer.

She took a shaky breath and finally met his eyes. He looked and smelled overly concerned, concerned about her. "Lydia…please is something going on with Jackson again? Does it have anything to do with…?"

Yes, she thought. It had everything to do with what went down at the championship game. It had everything to do with Jackson "dying" right in the middle of the field while they battled a truly evil person. It had everything to do with the wolves fighting to survive these last few months. It had everything to do with it, but these were things Danny could not know.

"No, I'm just a little concerned is all. If you hear anything will you tell me?" she tried to keep her voice light, but the edge was painfully obvious.

Danny hesitated before nodding in agreement. She attempted to smile reassuringly at him, but from his expression she failed miserably. He turned and shuffled away, leaving her staring at the glass case once again.

* * *

Allison had never lived in one place more than a few months at a time; had never remained at a school long enough to make long lasting friendships. Whenever she would grow accustomed to a new city her parents would rip her roots from the ground unapologetically. She'd given them hell the first few times; it wasn't fair nor was it right to constantly yank away her happiness and stability. Yes, she'd fought tooth and nail the first four or five times, then she'd learned to remain silent when it happened, to just cry quietly and go along with them; after all, it wasn't as if she had anywhere else to go.

It felt strange to be returning for her junior year of high school in the same place with so many friends. Granted the last year had been the most trying. She'd lost not one, but three family members; two of which used her naivety to their own advantage. She'd killed more people than she could recall, many of them teenagers like her. Hell, she'd almost killed her own friends. She'd had to finally take a seat and figure out for herself who she really was without outside interference. She'd walked hand in hand with Death on more than one occasion, had even been close to locking lips with him eternally. All in all, it wasn't really the best year she had.

On the bright side she had met the love of her life. Scott was what her mother had been to her father, the end to her beginning, the sunrise to her sunset. Through everything he was there, lending a strong and reassuring presence to those near him. He was dim at times, but in the end he found a way to please at least the people that mattered. And he never gave up on her, not even after she'd almost killed them all. She'd given him everything, including her virginity, because she just knew it wasn't a silly teenage fling.

She smiled and doodled aimlessly on her notebook, ignoring the drawl of her homeroom teacher. They had decided to take a break, to find closure with the summer events. In truth it wasn't going well. He still came over in the middle of the night and she still let him in her bed. There were still stolen kisses and tender touches. They were still together, and she felt bubbly inside knowing that it would remain that way.

The teacher cleared his throat and she looked at him in annoyance. They'd already received their schedules for the first semester as well as the ludicrous amount of paperwork they were meant to fill out every year. What more could the drone have to say?

He pushed his round glasses up the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat again. "Everyone, welcome our newest students, Erin Hampton and Jamie Weidman. Please make them feel welcome and at home to our community and school." He gestured to the duo and sat down behind his desk unceremoniously.

Allison gawked at the beaming pair as they made their way towards her. She hadn't seen Erin or Jamie since she lived in New York, and that felt like a lifetime ago. Erin had grown into her curves, her hips bulging out on either side of her. Her heart shaped face was practically glowing in the shadow of her snowy white hair. Her crystal blue eyes sparkled with mischievous and excitement. Allison leapt up and embraced her dearest friend, taking in the sweet scent of cinnamon and honey that followed her. The albino returned the hug, patting her back gently.

Jamie stood by and watched with his signature smirk. His black hair hung messily in his chocolate eyes. His dimples were still prominent in the more defined muscles of his face. His arms were crossed over his chest, his muscles rippling from underneath the thin material. His lips looked warm and inviting tilted up in that smile of his, as if begging to be kissed. At one time he had made her knees buckle, had sent her heart racing. Now she was just content to see him, though she did not offer a hug.

She extended her hand to him and he cocked his head to the side, his thick eyebrows rising. "A little formal for a bunch of old friends, don't you think Allie?" He gripped her hand in his and pulled her against his chest. She was startled to say the least when her cheek smashed against the hot wall of skin. She pushed out of his arms, feeling flustered. Jamie had always had a personal space issue, had never quite understood boundaries.

"As I recall this was how we first said hello to each other. Or did that slip your memory?" she tucked her hair behind her ear. She remembered that day all too well.

_It was her first day attending Creston High School, one she wasn't looking forward to. New York was loud and noisy and obnoxious. It wasn't her scene, not in the slightest. The nearest library was eight walking blocks from her house, and fifteen from the school itself. It would suck having to get there every day to escape the daunting reality that she had no friends. Yet, despite her fury toward her parents at forcing her into a new school once again, she smiled and kissed them on the cheeks before heading on her way. _

_She drew her hood over her head and walked, back hunched, towards the school. She concentrated on her feet and swallowed the nervous fluttering in her stomach. She knew what was waiting for her in the halls of Creston High; it was always the same. She would be subject to stares and rumors and uncomfortable questions. It didn't help that she was technically a grade behind and her parents were special weapon dealers. She was a freak, an outsider without an accent because she never lived anywhere long enough to develop one. Didn't her parents understand? Why did they continually subject her to this cruelty? Being a teenager was hard enough without the constant moving about. She should have taken Kate up on her offer to stay with her in D.C. _

_She was so wrapped up in her own thoughts she didn't see the large figure standing in her path. Allison knocked into him and fell on her bottom in a puddle. She sputtered indignantly and glared up through her wet lashes into the face of the moron. He was leering down at her while his friends chortled darkly. "Careful girlie, you might get hurt running around in the rain." _

_Her instincts screamed for her to run, but she refused to show fear. Kate had taught her to be strong and defiant when threatened, to show her attacker she wasn't in the slightest bit intimidated. She pushed herself to her feet and held her chin high. "Just watch yourself next time." she spat with as much venom as she could muster. _

_The man's eyes narrowed and he took a step toward her. She stumbled back a step, losing her moment of bravado. Now would be the time to run. She turned to flee, when a strong arm gripped her shoulder. It hurt like hell, but not as much as when he jerked her towards him, twisting her arm. She tried to scream, but a loud clap of thunder drowned out her cries. The rain was coming down in buckets now, drenching her to the bone. _

"_I don't think that was too polite little miss. Maybe we should show you some manners." His cronies circled closer and she fought back tears, not like they would help at this point. It felt odd to her that these thugs would attack her in broad daylight, but given the weather, she wasn't sure anyone would be able to tell what was really going on. _

"_Picking on freshman again Luke," Came a strong, reassuring voice. She looked up at the sound, hope swelling within her. The boy was handsome, so much so her mouth watered and she was staring unabashedly. The guy, Luke, released her and she stumbled forward. Her hero gripped her shoulders gently and pushed her into the arms of a smaller female beside him. Allison leaned against the thin female, watching the boy confront Luke. _

"_You know this girl?" Luke looked wary. To Allison that was the strangest thing ever. Her hero was about half his size, and looked as thin as she did. It didn't make sense that Luke seemed…afraid. _

"_She's a friend. So you and your gang, hands off." He said with enough force packed in the words to make her shiver. Luke seemed about to say something; then thought better of it and motioned to his friends. "Whatever." He grunted and walked away._

_Allison felt lightheaded, and rested her head on the girl's shoulder. A soft hand rubbed at her back soothingly. The boy walked over to them and looked into her face, eyes wide with concern. "Hey, I'm Jamie. Are you okay?" he extended a hand to her, never dropping her gaze. She hesitated before placing her hand in his. "I'm Allison, and yes I'm okay." _

_For the first time he smiled and God how she wanted to melt at that moment. It was as warm as her mother's hugs or summer days. "Well, guess I better be the first to welcome you to Creston High, Allie." _

That had been so long ago, so distant in her memory she was surprised it had survived so long in her head. With everything that had happened since moving to California, her life before then seemed like a fairy tale. How could she explain to her friends how much she'd changed over the course of a year? Would they understand without needing to delve into the very threads of her conscious? It was tricky mixing old and new together, and she didn't want her old friends getting hurt or wrapped in something she herself was entangled in.

Erin planted a butterfly kiss on her cheek. "I've missed you so much. Everyone has actually."

That piqued her interest. "Everyone? Is the gang here then? Luis, Carlos, and Jack?" the excitement was bubbling to the surface.

The albino nodded. "And your cousin apparently. We ran into him coming into the building. At first I thought it was you with a bad haircut." She lied smoothly.

"Gabriel is here too? Oh my, we have so much catching up to do! I haven't seen him since I was in eighth grade. He's a sophomore I think." She rattled on with her friends, happy to have them there. Though somewhere in the far corners of her mind, warning bells were screaming for her to ask the one question that really mattered. _Why had all of them moved to Beacon Hills?_

* * *

**Author's Notes: so I'm slightly disappointed with the lack of reviews, but I'm not going to go crazy or anything. I know the beginning is slow, but trust me it's worth the read. **


	4. Awake

Water dripped in steady rhythms against the cement floor. The rusted pipes overhead hummed and groaned with age. Dank must permeated the air, faint traces of mold lingering in corners. Slivers of light fell into the shadowed room from a high up window.

His head pounded, sledgehammers being rammed mercilessly in his skull. His body felt raw and beaten, protesting with the slightest movement. He sucked in a deep breath only to have his ribs cry out; a few were broken, but he wasn't healing. His tongue was as rough as sandpaper, throat arid and on fire. He couldn't recall the last time he'd drank or eaten anything at all, and the hollowness in his stomach was painful.

He lifted his head weakly, groaning against the leather gag in his mouth. His hands were chained up above his head, wrapped around one of the stronger pipes on the ceiling. Thin blue and red cords circled down his arm, twisting around his abdomen and connecting to a small metal box sitting delicately on a wooden table. His clothes were tattered from being kept in the hell hole for days, maybe even weeks; who knew how long he'd been unconscious?

His eyes felt heavy and burned from the acrid air. It was hard to breathe properly in such a filthy place, the chemicals and waste far too strong. He sputtered against his binds, jerking his arms halfheartedly. His body sluggishly cooperated, as if numbed and immobilized. Had he been drugged? Kidnapped? That didn't make any since to him, not in the slightest. What motive could anyone have of taking him? Ransom? Or could someone possibly know….

He dismissed the thought. If anyone knew what he really was he'd be dead already…unless they wanted something from him. He didn't want to accept that that was the reason, but as the minutes ticked by it became more and more likely. He closed his eyes and let his chin rest against his chest again, breathing slowly to remain calm. He needed to assess the situation.

Somewhere above his head people walked and chatted idly; none of which was connected to him. Based on the nauseating smell of urine and ammonia, he was somewhere underground, an old tunnel perhaps. The people above had no idea that he was down there, let alone starving and partially dehydrated. He was chained up pretty tight and for some chilling reason unable to break the binds; his mouth was gagged, stopping him from howling for help or simply yelling. It struck him that his scent would probably be masked fairly well, the longer he was down here. Whoever had kidnapped him had been very smart…

Jackson grunted in frustration and squeezed his eyes shut against the dizziness that suddenly swept through his bones. He couldn't remember anything. The last thing he could recall was hugging the little sister he never knew existed. He had just pulled her into his arms, had been running his hand through her silky blonde hair and scenting her when…when… _the black van jumped the curb and he jumped back, clutching the little girl to his chest. Her skinny arms encircled his neck, somewhat constricting his airflow. He pushed the frightened fourteen year old behind his back, shielding her from the unknown threat. "Jackson…" her voice quivered._

_Then the door of the van slid open and his chest exploded in agony. He felt like he was being shredded piece by piece, his bones splintering. His vision swam and he crumpled to his knees. Rebecca was gripping his arm, shaking and calling his name. He could sense her there, but his body was going numb, his mind falling under the surface. Then her hands were being torn from him and he crumpled, his face bouncing off the cement. Her screams ricocheting off the very confines of his brain. He wanted to reach out to her, to save her, but instead he coughed up blood. He gritted his teeth against the pain but he felt himself sinking beneath the surface. But before the darkness overtook him he heard the deafening pang of a gunshot. _

Rebecca…no, no she couldn't be dead. She was too young, she'd been innocent. His mind raced through the possibilities. She could have survived, could be in a hospital. Or maybe she'd escaped altogether and the gunshot had been a poor attempt to subdue her. Yes, he would hold on to that until he got out of there- if he ever got out.

A large metal door creaked and he fixed his eyes warily upon it. Dust billowed out as it was forced open, reaffirming his suspicion that he'd been left down here for some days. Harsh light flooded his eyes, but worse of all was the mixture of mountain ash, death, and aconite. It was repulsive, making him whimper as the figure shuffled in. He turned his head, exposing his neck in submission and squeezing his eyes yet again. Talon like fingers grabbed his jaw and snapped his head front and center again.

"Look at me boy or the girl will suffer." His breath was rancid and smelled of blood and decay. Jackson unwillingly pried his eyes open and stared into hard, gray ones, tinged a sickly yellow. The man's lips curled in a sneer, revealing cracked and yellowing teeth. "Well good afternoon Mr. Whittemore…we have much to discuss." His voice came out as a spine tingling hiss and Jackson felt true fear grip his heart.


	5. Past

Things were slow, calmer than things had been in a long time. It made him antsy and uneasy, waiting for an invisible attack. He jumped the few times the phone had rang, envisioning a gruesome homicide or something happening to one of the kids. Every time the bell jingled overhead his heart sped up, half expecting his son to come staggering in covered in blood. Beacon Hills had not been the safe haven he imagined raising his son in. It was a cesspool for maniacs and murders by the dozen. And what's worse he didn't even trust the people of the town anymore.

There were several old families in Beacon Hills, some that had been there since the little hick town had been founded. He knew how the game worked. Scandals that blackened the good names of the families were hushed up quickly, buried beneath the very feet of the next generations. How many other horrors had lurked in his town since he was a child? Who had lied to him and who had not? He found himself beginning to take a serious look at the cold cases piled up in the storage room. They deserved whatever justice he could get them, and damn if he would have to look in every coffin to find the truth he would. He had to do something, anything to bring security to his town again.

John sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing a calloused hand down his face. His shoulder and neck muscles throbbed and his head ached from lack of sleep. His stomach felt utterly empty, despite the large breakfast he'd had that morning. His nerves were getting to him. It was just insane to accept that werewolves, men slash wolves, existed. It was unprecedented, unexplainable. Yet he'd be a fool to ignore the obvious. It connected the dots he had been forcing together for months at a time. As crazy as it sounded to anyone of sense, it was nothing but the truth. And his son, his boy, had risked his life countless times to protect him from the truth; had nearly been killed several times because of the secret.

_Maybe I'm just being paranoid, _he thought. _It's time to relax, breathe a little. _There was no reason to be so uptight about things. Besides, it was Stiles junior year and he'd be playing first line. Truth be told it had scared him shitless to see his scrawny little boy buying his first lacrosse stick three years ago. All it would take was one good hit and he'd be missing the last few screws he had. But his son had bulked up some in that time. He'd filled out his body in a more natural way than the other boys had, not throwing himself into weightlifting but doing enough.

There was also the possibility of _maybe _putting himself out there on the market. There was no illusion in his mind of marriage ever again. He was old school, never having ever conceived the thought that he should marry more than once. And on that note who could take Lilliana's place? It was more than her stunning, almost exotic beauty that had drawn him to her.

No, it was her mind. She was articulate, rendering even some of their professors speechless. She often spoke openly about her feelings, rarely abashed or ashamed to point out the obvious to the belligerent. She used her own head to form opinions. And most of the time they went against the grain of the other intellectuals. Yet despite her maturity and brilliance she never thought herself above anyone. She always spoke kindly and warmly to everyone, treating them as equals and not lesser beings. She carried herself modestly, despite her luxurious background, not bothering to wear expensive jewelry or imported clothing. She never dated anyone, telling her suitors there was only one man she loved, but she hadn't met him yet. God he'd chased her, bent down at her feet for years. As if a miracle, or maybe pity, she'd accepted his hundredth request to take her on a date and it went from there. He'd never been happier in his life, not until their child was born. He picked up the faded photograph on his desk, running his thumb over the smiling face of his wife and wailing face of his newborn.

No, there was not a chance in heaven or hell that he'd ever meet someone like her again. But he was still young, and pretty soon he'd be alone. Stiles would leave for college and John would be forced to accept that he'd let the guilt eat away at him. Did he really believe he'd betray his dead wife if he started dating again? Or was he afraid of what Stiles might think? He knew his son wanted him to move on and be happy, but the boy didn't understand. Some people weren't very…open to the idea of a single father. He refused to let any woman try to come between him and his boy; he'd sooner remain a single hermit the rest of his life than let some woman chase away the only person he loved. But it wouldn't hurt to at least put himself on the market.

He yawned and stood, stretching his arms above his head. Someone tapped lightly on his door and he adjusted his uniform. "Come in." he said gruffly. The door opened and one of his fresh deputies poked her head in uncertainly. She was fresh out of the academy, fidgety and trigger happy. She bit her bottom lip nervously. "Umm, sheriff if you've got a minute, there's a Mr. Hale here to speak with you."

At that he raised his eyebrows. Now he wasn't too proud to admit he was wrong about the young man being a killer, but he was dangerous. There was something dark and foreboding about him that gave the sheriff the chills. It didn't help that trouble and death seemed to follow him like a plague. John didn't particularly like the fact that his teenage son was enamored with him, not in the slightest. There was no telling what he could really do, and John was not willing to risk his son's life over a silly crush. And, from his understanding, he almost had that past summer. If being with Derek Hale meant that Stiles would constantly be in the line of fire, then he being the parent would have to end it.

"Sure, send him in." he returned and sat behind his desk, doing his best to keep his face smooth. Derek entered in a second later, looking lost and scared. His eyes darted around him nervously, his hands flexing at his sides. He avoided John's gaze directly and sat down in one of the chairs across from him. The kid swallowed nervously. The sheriff bit back a smirk.

"Well Derek, what can I do for you?" he kept his voice light and calm.

The boy waited a minute, bouncing his leg up and down. "Sir… I was wondering if you could look into something for me, something important."

The sheriff leaned forward. Gone were the days where he'd accept cryptic messages. "I think it depends what we're talking about here. I can't just go into archives and pull out files without credible warrant."

Derek sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I want to know a little more about Jackson's adoption."

John blanched. Why the hell would he want to know that? "Why the hell would you want to know about that?"

"Because Jackson is in my pack sir, and he has not contacted us in a week. He didn't give us any details about them and I need to know who they are and exactly what may be going on up there. I need to do this legally." He emphasized. The sheriff blinked at him incredulously, before blowing air through his teeth. He remembered Jackson's parents alright.

_They had been young and stupid teenagers that frequented his and Lilliana's house on the weekends. Stiles had just been born the day they came to him holding the baby in their arms. The little thing was red and beautiful, but he looked sick and undernourished. Monica was sickly thin, her hair a ratty brown color. Her boyfriend Eric seemed down, almost depressed. It wasn't a sight he enjoyed seeing. And then Monica was sobbing and handing the little baby to Lilliana and pleading with her to take care of him. The teens had eloped and left, never to be heard from again. And he, being the man that he was, gave the boy to the people he knew craved a child they could never have. _

It was not a happy tale, and it wasn't something he enjoyed thinking about too much. Very few people actually knew what had really happened during the adoption, but those who did never said anything to the boy. The sheriff had made it perfectly clear that until Jackson was mature enough to handle the fact that he was not wanted simply because his parents wanted to run away together, they would coddle him and protect him from the truth. He rubbed at his eyes.

"Son, I'm going to say this as plainly as possible. I can't give you anything about his parents because I've made sure that it is untraceable. Now, how he managed to find them is beyond me, but I can't really help you more than that. I can put out a BOLO on his vehicle in this state, flash his picture around to see if anyone's found him. But unless his parents come asking, there's not really much I can do. I'm sorry."

Derek nodded, but he looked troubled. John wanted to help, he really did, but he had a protocol to follow and he didn't want to lose his job. They stood and shook hands briefly, neither quite sure what to say at that point. The sheriff watched the younger man turn to leave and he ran a hand through his hair again. God he needed a nap.

* * *

Author's notes: Sorry the chapter isn't super long, but I think it served its' purpose. The next chapter will be longer, I swear, but keep reviewing and reading. Enjoy!


	6. Talk

Isaac yawned, walking into his final class. The day had passed sluggishly, the teachers hastily trying to get acquainted with students who were still in the summertime mentality. A few brave teachers had attempted to call order to the rowdy teenagers only to be tuned out like parents. Honestly, it was as if some of the adults in the town had forgotten what it meant to be a kid sometimes. They behaved in mannerisms that suggested they never acted the same ways.

When he entered the classroom Mr. Harris was standing stock still in front of his desk. The man's jet black hair was graying some around the edges, faint lines beginning to frame his blue/green eyes. He kept his back straight and chest slightly pumped out, giving the illusion of muscles. He stiffly nodded his head to each student as he handed them a sinister looking packet. Isaac stared at it incredulously. The damn thing was a syllabus and pre-test?

He deflated a little inside. He had no idea why he was even taking a pre-AP/ AP Physics class anyway. Science had always been his worst subject in school, despite how the teachers doted on him. He just couldn't wrap his head around the facets and how one reaction started another, but the trigger itself was compromised of more than one component. In pieces it made sense, together it was hell. And by the looks of this test about his prior knowledge, he would be placed in a remedial class.

Something struck him in the side of the head and clattered to the floor. He bent down to pick it up and glared at the direction it came from. Stiles sat grinning like an idiot near the back of the classroom gesturing madly to the empty seat next to him. Isaac raised an eyebrow questioningly. Everyone knew that Stiles was Scott's best friend, belonged to him in a non- mate sort of way. If anyone would have that vacant chair it'd be him. But as Isaac looked around the room he was only slightly surprised to see Scott sitting beside Allison. But that wasn't all. Lydia had claimed a seat directly in the front row, next to Erica. Boyd wasn't in the class, but then again he was a year older than them.

Stiles' bottom lip protruded out and his eyes grew wide in a mock pout. Isaac ducked his head and ambled over quickly. As soon as he slid onto the stool the bell rang overhead and Stiles mock punched him on the shoulder. "Took you long enough. You looked so much like Scott I was tempted to put you in a bib and helmet." Scott's head snapped in their direction and his eyes narrowed. He flipped them off under the desk before turning a sappy grin to Allison. Stiles rolled his eyes and Isaac laughed.

They turned their attention to Mr. Harris whose raptor eyes were sliding over the students as if picking a pig for the slaughter. His eyes slid over Isaac and he released a pent up breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Then he felt Stiles' mood change and looked over at him curiously. The boy had his head down, fidgeting with the pencil case in his lap. He refused to speak or lift his eyes. Isaac looked back at the teacher crossly. The man was smirking cruelly, as if contemplating a special brand of torture for him. He could feel the twisted joy in the man's heart and his gut ached. Dude…seriously, picking on a kid?

"Welcome back students. I must say you shouldn't grow too accustomed to being in my classroom. I only accept the highest of intelligible thinkers in my course, and laziness will destroy you here. Few people who have taken my class fell by the wayside and I intend to keep it that way. So, as a precaution, I designed a test designed specifically to weed out the degenerates. However I do have a heart, despite popular belief, and have offered to allow those of you who do not wish public embarrassment to exit my class and go to see Ms. Morrell right now."

He paused a breath and seven or eight teens dejectedly stood and handed back the packets before walking out silently. That didn't stop his arrogant smirk or snide comments. When the door clicked close he turned his attention back to the rest of them. "For you brave hearts I will either commend your achievement or mock your stupidity for wasting my time. Since you decided to stay with me a little longer I will judge you harsher than ever before. Again I offer the door." When no one moved he shrugged and began pacing back and forth.

"The syllabus will tell you my expectations for this class. And let me make it perfectly clear that anyone who does not meet those will suffer extreme disciplinary action. And no one is exempt from that." His eyes were staring daggers at Stiles head. Isaac frowned but said nothing. Seriously was this whole speech directed at Stiles? What did the guy have against him anyway?

Harris opened his mouth to speak again before a perfectly manicured hand shot like a bullet into the air. They turned to Lydia expectantly and Isaac would swear he felt a brief wave of lust roll over the teacher. Gross. "Mr. Harris I think we should address the legal side of those "extreme actions" you were blabbering about."

He raised an eyebrow. Most people were shocked that the professed airhead was really a genius in disguise. "And by that what do you mean?"

"Educational Code 174-26 found in section 4 of the teacher training module states that any teacher under suspicion of abuse of given powers will be subject to review by the educational board of the state. Not only that but the abuse of your power as well as students rights can be subject to a visit to the federal courts for crimes against the Constitution and human rights. In other words, it'd be a very smart thing to do to make sure you cross your is and dot your Ts when punishing a student. Anything shady might land you in prison." She spoke quickly and politely, but he and the other people who actually knew her heard the threat behind them. She knew what was up and was sending a coded warning: back off.

Mr. Harris' face was flushed slightly, his hands lightly shaking. His jaw was tight, a muscle throbbing in it. "Yes thank you Ms. Martin for that reminder, though I have reviewed the module carefully." he said curtly through gritted teeth. "Now then, for the rest of class you can look over your syllabus. I have business to attend to." He stomped around behind his desk and sat down furiously scrawling on a paper.

Isaac suppressed a laugh and looked to meet the looks of the others. They were biting their lips to keep from laughing as well. Lydia was smiling smugly from ear to ear and she winked at Stiles. Isaac looked over at his partner who was shaking with silent laughter at the teacher's expense. "Thanks babe." he whispered just under his breath, but every wolf in the room heard. She turned around and blew him a small kiss. Isaac shook his head at the exchange and went to flipping aimlessly through the packet. He didn't necessarily care about the class anyway; besides, it would end in roughly ten minutes.

Stiles slid him a folded paper and went back to his pretend assessment of the syllabus. Carefully Isaac unfolded the note and read what was written.

_Dude Harris is going to KILL her._

Isaac scoffed and shaking his head scrawled out a sloppy reply.

_As scary as she is? Yeah, good luck with that working out._

He passed it back and watched the teacher carefully to make sure they wouldn't get caught. The paper slid back onto his lap and he quickly read it.

_Yeah, I agree she is without a doubt the heavyweight champion of ball busting, but he has his ways._

He wrote his reply and slid it back quickly when Harris stood and started moving around the room grumpily.

_Yeah, because a scrawny guy like take on a major bitchy, overly smart, kick ass werewolf. Yeah compared to him she really has no chance._

Stiles snorted and tucked the note into his jeans. He began putting his things away and the bell rang, signaling the end of the day. The other students cleared out and their pack mates crowded around.

Isaac threw a one armed hug around Scott's shoulders. "So are we meeting at Derek's today or what?"

They all turned to Stiles expectantly. "Why the hell should I automatically know everything?" he feigned ignorance and shook his head.

Lydia smacked him in the back of the head. "Maybe it's because you happen to be screwing our fearless Alpha." The boy turned scarlet and Isaac groaned at the jibe. It was like thinking about his parents getting hot and heavy; not a mental image he really wanted. Although…nope, leave that to Lydia. She was the one who wanted a video.

"Can we please not discuss sex lives right now?" he whined. Stiles looked at him sympathetically and he did his best to maintain the somber look. Yeah he was a spoiled brat, but it wasn't something he was expressively used to. Getting his way without violence was a lot easier than he'd originally thought.

"Okay Lydia there are obviously children here so behave. Derek said to meet him there; I'm not sure what for though. Isaac you can ride with me if you want." He said it in such a casual way Isaac was taken aback. Again he found himself looking guiltily at Scott as if he was encroaching upon his territory, but the boy was standing there completely at ease.

"Yeah Isaac you should keep him company. I'm going with Allison to her house for a quick second before going that way." Scott said, sliding his hand into Allison's. It was a wonder to him why the two even bothered trying to break up.

"Okay, cool let's go." Stiles threw his bag over his shoulder and they left the classroom chatting animatedly about the new layout of the Hale house. They'd finished the basics, but now it was time to design the rooms. Derek had said they could each have their own rooms there, just in case they needed a place to hide for a few days or just to crash. In Isaac's opinion it was pretty cool. They were moving from the awkwardness of a starting pack into a kind of...well, family.

They reached their cars and piled in. Isaac clicked his seat belt in place and waited for Stiles to pull out of the parking lot. "So how are things with Iris?" the boy asked conversationally. This was one of his favorite things about Stiles, one of the things he'd missed about having a brother. When he was younger his brother had asked him endless questions, half of which he never gave an adequate answer. In a way Stiles gave him that, since he was about five months older than him.

"She's amazing. But I don't really feel like I deserve her you know? She's just so smart and beautiful and talented and I'm…well I'm a werewolf. I don't have a house or anything promising to offer someone like her. And she doesn't even know the real me. I'm scared I'll push her away or hurt her because of what I am. As much as I love her…I think it might be better for her if we weren't together." He let the words pour out knowing that Stiles would listen to every word pensively before answering.

The boy leaned over and while controlling the wheel with one hand smacked him hard. He winced at the impact it had. "Isaac don't be stupid. I hear what you're saying, but you have no right to make that decision for her, none. If she wants to end things fine, but you can't make that choice prematurely. It isn't fair to her. Besides, she's more in love with you than Allison is with Scott; she's just not jumping in head first. Look, I think Derek might be open to letting her in on the secret. Who knows she might want the Bite. He's different now, more open to accepting what others might think. Ask him and see what he says. I trust her completely."

Isaac nodded and rubbed at his head. "You have him whipped don't you?" they paused, and then exploded in fits of laughter.

"More like Mr. Sour wolf is just trying to be nice."

Isaac scrunched up his eyebrows and looked at Stiles meaningfully. "So you guys really haven't done anything? I mean, because I really don't want to lose a bet to the girls." They simultaneously shivered at the prospect. Really, the females were horrible people, truly evil.

Stiles shook his head, cheeks flaming. "As much as I've dreamed about it, nothing has even come close to happening. Don't worry; I'll give you a heads up first."

"Please hold out for another month. Seriously wear a chastity belt if it will help." They laughed the rest of the ride to the Hale house.

* * *

Allison pulled her car into the driveway and hopped out happily. Her dad would be so excited to know that their cousins were in town, maybe they could visit. And then he would freak about her old friends moving down there too. She walked in, tugging Scott along in search of the man. From the sound of a buzz saw she assumed he was in the garage. They pushed open the garage door and saw him at work on a hand crafted shotgun.

He turned and smiled warmly at her. She returned it before planting a kiss on his cheek. Her dad had changed some in the past years. There was a new light in his eyes she hadn't seen in such a long time. He embraced her before turning off the saw and taking off his working gloves. His smile disappeared when he saw Scott and her heart sank just a little. Those two were never going to agree over her. If only they would stop being stubborn and realize both wanted her to be happy, or maybe stop trying to dictate her life altogether like some Aladdin remake.

"Allison I promise I'm not trying to be rude here, but I really need to speak with you out of the company of wolves." His voice was sincere and he didn't look that much put off by Scott's presence. She nodded and looked over her shoulder at him. He gave her one look and walked out, snapping the door closed behind him. She turned back to her father folding her arms over her chest.

He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. He slid it into her hands and leaned back onto the hood of the truck, waiting. She opened it curiously, her fingers tracing delicately over the small drawing. She cocked her head to the side and looked up at him confused.

"What's this supposed to be?" she turned it over, looking for hidden letters or anything that might offer clues. Her eyes kept roaming over that severed wolf head and her stomach lurched. Each time it was one of her friends head and it didn't sit well with her.

Chris sighed heavily and ran a hand through his short hair. "That is a warning, telling us that hunters are coming, and they're coming fast."

Whatever she'd been hoping to hear it wasn't that. Why were hunters coming to Beacon Hills? The alphas were gone and they hadn't called for any outside assistance. Unless…bile rose in her throat. "Did you call for them?"

He blanched at the accusation but she held her ground. Her father hated all the wolves and probably wouldn't lose any sleep over any of their deaths. "Allison I have no idea what is going on here. All I know is that they're coming and they aren't asking for an invitation. They want something, but until I know exactly who is coming I can't figure it out."

She bit back a wave of guilt at his hurt expression. He didn't understand. She herself had turned on everyone at the guidance of another hunter. There was no telling what he would do surrounded by his comrades. "The pack needs to know right away."

"No. they can't know anything. These hunters are smart and must have some idea about what's going on. If they witness intentional behavior, as in teenagers suddenly acting covert about things they are otherwise explicit with they will dig too deep into things. We can't afford that to happen."

"But you yourself even agreed that Derek and the others post no immediate threat to any humans. Isn't that enough to keep others away?"

He shook his head. It goes much deeper than that. It's all according to who calls the mission. Obviously it's someone who takes precedence over me; otherwise I would have been asked permission. Whatever is going on here goes much deeper than even I can decipher."

Allison bit her bottom lip. Something was itching at the far corners of her mind but she couldn't figure it out. "What do we do?"

"For starters we need to be vigilant and alert. Anyone suspicious looking is under immediate investigation until I get the full story. If anyone approaches you or the pack let me know immediately. I'm not going to let children die on my watch."

She nodded again, her mind formulating a plan. Her father had said she couldn't tell the other wolves…but technically speaking Stiles wasn't a wolf. She turned on her heel and padded up to her bedroom to change into comfortable sweats and a t-shirt. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and paced the floor, biting her fingernails. Her father had said no wolves, but Stiles was fair game. Then again would he tell the others? She thought about it, then decided it was best to have someone on her side she work undercover with at least. She picked up her cell phone off the desk and quickly dialed the number. He answered on the fifth ring, and he sounded like he was surrounded by the pack. Damn.

"Hey Stiles can you get alone for a moment? We need to talk."

* * *

**Author's notes: so as promised here's the next chapter. I'm really thankful for the reviews because they give me the proper motivation to write. Okay, but a few things in this chapter to note. 1) I am not really sure about the whole teacher thing I mentioned, but I just wanted to see Lydia bust his chops 2) thanks to some helpful advice from AyresKelle I'm adding a little Isaac/ Stiles bromance, because seriously I think it works. 3) I really hope you guys don't mind the shift in the ratings. Fair warning there will be some…adult moments later on in the story but they won't be over the top or anything because…well I'm kind of innocent of that stuff. Just bare with me. Anyway I'll be updating soon ,so enjoy!.**


	7. Useless

The electricity crackled and raced up and down his spine in lashing currents. His spine arched at the flow of energy, his muscles convulsing. A muffled scream could be heard from behind his gag, fresh salty tears running trails through the built up grime on his face. His chin dropped to his chest as he choked to breathe. The putrid smell of sweat, urine, and cooked flesh wafted up his sensitive nose. His wrists were red and bruised from his desperate attempts to free himself; the chains had chafed his skin raw.

The man tapped his long withered fingers on top of the shiny red device that was the cause of this torture. For hours the man had asked him a question and when he refused to answer he'd be subjected to minutes of "shock- therapy". Jackson was certain this man was going to kill him; there wasn't a chance in Hell he'd give up the pack to the psycho. A few months ago he wouldn't have hesitated to save his own skin. He'd do whatever it took to survive, to please, to belong. It didn't matter that he'd tread upon the weaker males around him or even the females. That was how he used to be, but that was far from who he really was. He would be strong for his pack and if he died…at least they would be okay.

He felt a sharp sting across his cheek and realized the man had struck him. He trained his eyes on him, trying to get a clear view of his face, but only his eyes were visible in the shadows. His waxy hands reached up and pulled away the gag. He drew in a large breath, gulping like a drowning man. His tongue was dry and swollen in his mouth, his throat searing from hours of screaming.

"Ok Mr. Whitmore I shall ask you again. I sincerely hope you cooperate soon. I don't have much patience." Every time the man spoke Jackson cringed. The voice was one out of his nightmares, one he couldn't quite place. It brought back memories of black numbness and hot blood running through his fingers and teeth. He just couldn't understand how he knew this stranger; but he did and he was terrified. "Where is Derek Hale?"

Jackson held his tongue. He couldn't understand why this man was after Derek, but his question didn't make sense. If he knew that Jackson was a member of the pack how could he not know where the alpha was? He felt as if he should know why it was that particular question being asked, something that pertained to him. But what? What was he missing that was so vital? He'd been struggling to recover his memories for so long now he couldn't decipher what was real or not.

The man's eyes narrowed. "You stubborn bastard. You are only prolonging your suffering." He pulled a small silver blade from his belt and held it up before Jackson. "I told you I am not one to be trifled with." And he plunged the little knife up to its' hilt in Jackson's side. He cried out in pain, but it had only just begun. The man twisted the sharp blade, ripping at his flesh. He finally pulled it out, leaving a three inch wide gash that was sluggishly healing. He whimpered when the gag was forced back into his mouth and the man returned to the little dial.

Jackson closed his eyes, preparing for the pain.

* * *

Gabriel pushed open the apartment door with his shoulder, bags of groceries in one hand and his backpack in the other. It had begun to drizzle lightly outside, his hair plastered somewhat to his forehead. He grunted softly when he sat the bags down by the front door and stretched his arms above his head. The muscles popped and creaked from overuse but he simply rolled his shoulders and ignored it. His back ached and he had a crink in his neck, but that could all be contributed to lack of sufficient sleep.

He yawned widely and padded down the hallway to the living room. Soft rock music was playing from an old stereo system in the corner; the television was on but no one seemed to be paying any attention; the twins were sprawled on the floor discussing something covertly; Erin was curled up in an armchair filing her nails into sharp points; Jack was watching her like a hawk, ready to pounce should she be in trouble; and Luis was staring out into the street below. He frowned but said nothing and picked his way through the room. He flicked off the television set and cleared his throat.

The others looked up at him expectantly. He hesitated for a minute. It wasn't that the others hated him; it was more that they just didn't think he was worth much. "I know we just got to town and all, but did we receive another message? It has been three days since the last one…"

Liam smirked and held out a small card for him. "Yeah, we've got another one. Apparently we need to sniff out the wolf pack on our own. The guy only told us the alpha's name: Derek Hale."

Gabriel took the crumpled paper and read the information twice before stowing it in his pocket; he never lost anything. He crossed his arms over his chest. "What should we do about my cousin? When can I see her?" He bit his bottom lip nervously. He hadn't seen Ally since she lived in New York. He had once looked up to her father, but that was before he betrayed the hunters.

Erin sat down her nail file and inspected her fingers closely. "Ally is fine. I'm just glad her father hasn't corrupted her yet with his twisted lies and philosophies. From what I can tell she's still as clueless as she was a year ago; no idea what we really do. Until told otherwise we need to keep it that way."

His brow creased with worry. That made their mission that much harder to accomplish. If she had no idea wolves existed how could they possibly convince her to leave town with them? The whole point was to eliminate the wolf pack and rescue her before she got hurt. But he'd been under the impression that she knew about them already.

Luis crossed the room and slung an arm over his shoulders. Gabriel couldn't help but shudder under the touch. The others were always so cold and distant to him; whenever they did initiate contact it was usually in a way that belittled him. "Gabriel we're a little more experienced with things than you are. Let us older kids handle the tough parts and you just work on separating her from her dad."

He scowled. "I'm only a year younger than you. I'm not a kid anymore."

Jamie and Carlos snorted. "Sorry kid, but you are. Have you ever killed a wolf before?"

Gabriel said nothing. They all knew that he had never so much as shot a crossbow in his life, let alone kill a wolf. He'd watched his father and older cousins kill countless wolves, but he never participated. He wasn't even sure why he was here with them on this mission considering his inexperience. The only thing he had was a direct connection to Allison.

"Look kid, just lay low and watch yourself. We'll get Allison out of here before anything hits the fan."

They snickered in agreement and his cheeks heated up. He shrugged off the arm and stomped to his bedroom down the hall. He made sure the door was locked before sitting on his bed and pulling out the weathered photo album he always carried with him. He swallowed thickly and blinked back the stinging tears that threatened to overflow. He was tired of being called useless, being less than human to the other hunters. His finger traced his mother's laughing face forever frozen in time. He was her little champion, her man. She'd never thought him nothing. But he would show them; he'd show them all.

* * *

**Author's Notes: This chapter is short, sorry but I am swamped in homework and other things. But next Chapter will be long. I promise. Enjoy and review! :)**


	8. Decision

Stiles sighed in contentment, throwing his head back and rolling his shoulders. His jaw went slack as he scrubbed his skin under the calescent water. Steam curled deliciously above his head, filling the bathroom with a thick cloud of vapor.

He groaned and leaned his forehead against the slick tiled wall. The first week of school had been the longest transition of his life. It was not easy going from days of hardcore training to hours of listening to drones lecture them about unimportant things. Adderall had become his best friend the last few days, keeping him solely concentrated on not pissing off his teachers early on in the year. Harris already had it in for him, and he was certain that the man would find some way around Lydia's threat to haggle him.

His mind wandered to Allison's conversation with him the other afternoon. To be honest he'd been disappointed that their peace was short lived, but he wasn't nearly as afraid as he would have been months ago. There were several variables to consider; most that weighed in their favor. For one thing the hunters weren't even aware who the wolves were. Secondly, once the hunters were weeded out his dad could easily have them closely monitored. Not to mention the fact that they had a totally kick ass pack that was more than a match for hunters. He wasn't worried, but that didn't mean he took her warning lightly either. He'd keep his ear to the ground as best as he could while keeping the others in the dark.

He bit his lip at the prospect of lying and keeping secrets again. They'd just broken away from that and it felt wrong to relapse, but if Allison said it was necessary for their safety he'd comply. He couldn't fathom any of them getting hurt any more than they already had been in the past year. There had to be some happiness to balance out the sorrow.

He turned off the water and stepped out onto the shower mat. He wrapped a soft towel around his waist and paused before the full length mirror to examine his body. Stiles couldn't help but admire his body and the new muscles he'd acquired. He flexed his arms and grinned stupidly at the nicely toned biceps and triceps. He was comprised mostly of subtle muscles that were only more defined by the droplets of water. He wasn't exactly ripped, but his body wasn't too bad to look at either.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, blushing over the thought of his body next to Derek's. The guy was a god straight out of a Greek myth: tall, dark skinned, strong jawed, and nicely muscled with strong thick thighs and a broad back. Whatever Stiles may complain he wouldn't nor couldn't deny the man was sexy even when scowling. He had a dark nature about him that tugged at the hormones of the people surrounding him.

He shook away the thoughts and walked cautiously into the hall. His father was supposed to be at work, but he wasn't going to risk getting caught naked by his dad; not again. He waited a few seconds, then padded barefoot to his room. He was meeting with the pack later on to do some more work in the house and wanted to hurry getting ready.

Stiles tiptoed around the objects strewn precariously throughout his room. He meant to clean it one day, but today he was busy with more important things. He reached up while keeping a firm grip on his towel and pulled down a pair of faded blue jeans and a plain t-shirt. He'd been so absorbed in his thoughts he hadn't noticed the large figure hovering just behind him. He wheeled around and screamed until he felt his voice jump an octave.

Derek jumped back, eyes growing comically wide at the boy's alarm. Stiles heaved and clutched at his chest, his body sagging against the doorframe. He swore he just pissed himself; something he had not done since kindergarten. He sputtered incoherently while his ever so creepy boyfriend gawked in concern. Seriously was it hard for any of the wolves to simply _knock_ before entering his bedroom? They climbed in and out at all hours of the day, and he was fine with that, but a knock would sure save from several embarrassing moments.

When he found his breath again he threw Derek a glare sure to turn any man's knees to rubber. But obviously he does not live in a perfect world and therefore Derek has to be a douche/ dork and smirk in amusement. "I hope you know I'm definitely buying you all bells now right?"

The wolf snorted skeptically and perched himself on the edge of his bed. "I was just coming to pick you up. You didn't answer the door."

"I was in the shower. Or do you think I like parading around alone at home wet and covered in a towel?" he gestured wildly to his body to convey the message. He felt a droplet of water drip from his hair and slide down his body until it disappeared into the towel. Derek's eyes followed it and Stiles flushed heavily.

"Not my fault you woke up at two in the afternoon on a Saturday." Stiles opened his mouth to retort but couldn't find a good comeback. He had slept in extremely late that day, so naturally everyone else in the world had to be awake. Still, he hated losing a battle to anyone.

"Well then Sour wolf if you'll kindly step out I'd like to get dressed." The wolf didn't move and Stiles bit his lip. There was his hot boyfriend sitting on his bed, and there he was standing there all wet and naked. A shiver ran up his spine at the possibility of what could potentially happen here if he wasn't a frightened virgin. After staring at each other for a full five minutes Stiles gave up and stepped into his closet, closing the door and dressing in the dark.

He came tumbling out of the closet and Derek stood, crossed over to him and cupped his face. Stiles met his gaze evenly, doing his utmost to not seem like a teenage girl from a bad movie when the eyes made him melt. Derek's eyes had a way of hardening and melting whenever he was around him. Right now the hazel irises were a sea of greens, browns, and blues and Stiles was sinking beneath their surfaces. He ran his tongue across his lips unconsciously and he leaned up.

Derek met him halfway and gently pulled their bodies together. His strong hands began to roam over his body, one holding his neck and rubbing smooth circles over the sensitive skin and the other at the small of his back. Stiles found his arms locked around Derek's neck, his hands entwined in his hair. The kiss started off slow and sweet, almost a caress. Then Derek's tongue parted his lips and he dived straight in. his hands tightened and the wolf deepened the kiss with more intensity. Stiles head began to spin but he didn't want to stop just yet. But obviously Derek did.

All too soon he pulled back and stepped away. Stiles lips were swollen and his pupils dilated. He felt cold at the lack of contact, but didn't press it. His boyfriend's eyes had started to tint a faint but distinctive red, hinting that his wolf was getting too excited. It didn't happen often, but when it did Derek wished to remain somewhat distant. Stiles wouldn't fight him on that; he knew Derek would never hurt him in his right mind, but under the influence of the wolf was a different story.

They waited until the red began to ebb and the irises were that gorgeous hazel again. Stiles timidly placed a hand on his boyfriend's shoulder. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

Derek took a deep breath and squeezed his hand reassuringly. "Yeah, let's just go." Without another word they hurried outside and climbed into the Camaro. Stiles became deeply troubled when the wolf slid into the car and stiffly drove off; his knuckles were white against the steering wheel. He knew it was Derek's normal reaction to his innocent loss of control; he went all stiff and cold, refusing to touch him for fear of hurting him. It didn't sit well with him at all.

"Derek I'm fine you know. Really you don't have to beat yourself up." The hazel eyes shifted to him and he saw the unmistakable guilt in them. Then Derek leaned over and turned the radio up, ending the conversation altogether.

Stiles sat back his seat and pouted like a child denied his favorite toy. He folded his arms tightly across his chest and scowled out the windshield at the stretch of road ahead of them. It was just like Derek to go and turn the mood sour. Why was he so stubborn all the damn time? Couldn't he see Stiles was fine? They would never have a perfect relationship but it could at least be on that road. But at the rate they were going that didn't seem likely at all. There was too much of a relapse, Derek falling into his old patterns of wanting to protect without being close and him trying to be in control of everything without help. They were dysfunctional to say the least.

After a few minutes of strained silence between them- they were both ignoring the music- they pulled onto the wooded road leading to the Hale house. The trees grew close together here; the shrubbery so thick it obscured some of the older hiking trails. Green moss hugged the large trees that stretched to the blue heavens above, the sun filtering through the dying canopy. The falling leaves danced and twirled through the air before landing softly on the ground. A few animals darted here and there, carefully avoiding being spotted. The beauty of the city quailed in comparison to the rugged glamour of the autumn woods.

They pulled into a vast clearing and Derek stopped the car but made no move to exit; neither did Stiles. They remained silent and took in the newly renovated structure. The Hale house stood two stories high, as tall as some of the trees. Its base was decorated with sculpted rock that burrowed within the soft earth. They'd built a wooden wraparound porch and trellises climbing up the sides of the building. It was whimsical, almost fairytale like in style and demeanor.

Stiles was caught off guard when Derek was suddenly standing outside his door, waiting for him to step out. He exhaled sharply and climbed out, tumbling over his own stupid feet. The man instinctively reached out and caught him just around his middle, the strong hands crushing him against his chest. Then Derek's nose was nestled against the soft underside of his chin, inhaling deeply. He let his lips tilt up in a smile and leaned into the embrace. Derek never apologized and Stiles didn't ask him to.

Finally Derek released him and they set off up the porch steps into the house.

* * *

Lydia watched them from the window, her finger gently holding down the blinds. She couldn't stop herself from grinning stupidly whenever she was lucky enough to witness Derek Hale displaying his affection. None of them doubted his true feelings for Stiles, but he'd never actually shown it in public. It softened her heart and warmed her stomach to watch the love story unfolding before them.

She turned from the window and glided to the counter, picking up a cookie and nibbling on it. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, listening to the others in the living room. Isaac was basically having a panic attack as he sat clutching his girlfriend's hand. Said girlfriend was slightly nervous, but more intrigued than anything else. Scott and Allison were sitting on the newly polished wooden staircase whispering so low that even she couldn't make out the words. Boyd and Erica were currently attacking each other's faces like lovesick puppies.

Iris didn't know it, but in just a few minutes she'd be blindsided by every one of them. She wasn't aware that any of them were wolves, but after today she'd know the real reason why Isaac was so protective when he was around. It would be her decision to become a wolf or not, but it had been a unanimous decision that she was Pack. Lydia had no qualms about it at all; she liked the girl's wit and ability to think for herself. It just felt like an incomplete judgment without Jackson's input. But as Derek had pointed out to them, the majority consent was what mattered and if Isaac wanted his mate to know now they couldn't wait.

The front door opened and her eyelids pulled back. Stiles poked his head around the corner beaming mischievously. He eyed the cookie in her hand pointedly and flashed his puppy dog face, bottom lip poking out adorably. She huffed in irritation but walked over and shoved the nibbled on morsel in his waiting mouth. His face lit up and she couldn't suppress her own smile. "Brat." She laughed good naturedly as they entered the living room together.

He nudged her with his shoulder and feigned hurt. "Me, a brat? Why I never!" She rolled her eyes at his poorly tried southern accent and plopped down daintily next to him, making sure their thighs were pressed together. She ignored the pointed scowl her alpha was throwing at the side of her head; she was entitled to touch her male best friend when she wanted.

Isaac was studying the floor intently. She felt sorry for him, only imagining the internal conflict he was dealing with. Half of him wanted his girlfriend to know the real him, every facet of his being while the other half wanted to keep her safely out of the bulls-eye that seemed trained on all their backs. He didn't want her to be pulled into the constant danger and drama that seemed to swirl throughout their everyday lives, but he needed her to understand him in ways other humans could not. He wasn't a selfish boy, and if any of them deserved to have someone by their side it was him.

Iris looked at them all before releasing a pent up breath. "Okay is anyone going to explain what's going on here?" She focused her attention on her silent boyfriend. His cheeks flushed but he didn't speak.

To Lydia's surprise Isaac and the others turned to her. She balked, screwing up her eyebrows and looking at them all like they were crazy. "You want me to do this?"

"Well it only makes sense Lydia; you are the top female." Erica grumbled. Lydia felt her cheeks heat up slightly. Erica had not been welcoming to another female wolf namely because she was the first, but she had relinquished the position after Lydia had proved to be more resilient and in control.

Allison nodded earnestly in agreement. "Yeah, I think it'll be better coming from a girl anyhow."

Iris shifted her gaze between the three of them. "Ooookaaayyy… Lydia what is it you guys need to tell me?"

Lydia sighed and for once felt at a loss for words. How was she to explain this to the girl properly? She didn't even have the full story because there were simply too many things to tell. What could she say? This was unlike her. Stiles' arm snaked around her waist, hugging her reassuringly. She released her pent up breath and leaned forward.

"I know this will sound crazy, maybe completely like we're high or something but please just keep an open mind about all of this."

Iris leaned forward expectantly. Lydia looked at Scott, since he was the head boy beta. He stood and rolled his shoulders, stepping away from Allison. He closed his eyes and concentrated. They all watched in silence as his face began to morph into a more doglike appearance; pointy white canines protruding from his gums; and his fingernails elongated into sharp talons. His eyes snapped open revealing bright gold irises.

Lydia looked at Iris. The girl had recoiled, pushing her boyfriend slightly in front of her and clutching onto his shoulders tightly. Her heart was thrumming within her chest, her eyes comically wide. "Iris breathe, Scott won't hurt you."

The girl's breath stuttered another moment before evening out. She was tough; another trait Lydia admired in a female. "Like I said, keep an open mind about this. All of us, excluding Allison and Stiles, are more or less like Scott."

The girl's hands slid from Isaac's shoulders and dropped in her lap. She wasn't looking at them anymore, but staring out the window angrily. "And what is Scott exactly?" her voice was quiet and tight with barely contained anger. Lydia didn't blame her feelings. She had felt the same way when the truth had been revealed to her almost four months ago after discovering her boyfriend was a reptilian monster. She hadn't wanted to speak to any of her so called "friends" because they'd continually lied to her face; it didn't matter that they'd done it for her own good.

But this part would be tricky. She could walk away altogether; she could accept things and still walk away; or she'd be open to them. It all depended on how she took it. "Scott is a werewolf. Derek is the alpha and we are the betas."

The girl closed her eyes and took a controlling breath. She stood and slung her purse strap over her shoulder. Isaac watched her walk past them, his breaking heart visible in his eyes. She stopped just in the open doorway. "Thank you for telling me." she whispered. They heard the front door open and close and the sound of a car starting. They said nothing when the crunch of tires disappeared. Lydia waited a moment, then stood and wrapped her arms around Isaac's neck. The boy was shaking with unshed tears, but that was okay; they wouldn't judge. "Just give her time."

* * *

**Author's Notes : Ta-DA! This is what a medication induced Full night's rest will get you! I feel as if the pack needs to expand just a little to up the excitement for later chapters. But i really hope you guys enjoy this one! :)**


	9. Rain

She was driving too fast; intellectually she knew it, but her foot felt too heavy to let up off the gas. Her hands were numb from clutching the steering wheel so tightly, but she couldn't release the pressure. Her vision was blurry and her eyes stung with tears. She bit hard on her bottom lip to keep them at bay. Inside her chest her heart felt as if it'd ruptured, her lungs burning. Her mind was running relays, each rerun of what had just gone down a fresh slap to the face.

Rain began to patter against the hood of her car the farther away she drove. Her body began to quiver as memories of Scott's transformation raced through her head. It was inconceivable, impossible. Werewolves didn't exist; they weren't real. People didn't go from carefree teenagers to snarling bloodthirsty beasts. But there was no denying the monster Scott had turned into…what they all could apparently turn into.

A tear slid down her cheek and she sobbed. Isaac was a werewolf. He was a monster. He'd lied to her, told her he loved her. His arms had made her feel safe, as if no harm could ever touch her. His words had been comforting and warm; he'd seemed so open. But he'd lied to her. He'd kept her oblivious to what was obviously a large portion of who he was. And it hurt; god did it hurt. She felt stupid, naïve and completely out of control. She'd been a fool.

Iris shuddered and wiped impatiently at her face. She wasn't a crier; she didn't breakdown like other girls. She hadn't even cried when her mother had walked out on them two years ago or when her grandmother had died six months later. It wasn't in her nature to show weakness, but there was no stopping it. He was everything, but she was so afraid. She'd heard about the animal attacks, about Isaac's father being butchered. Had he done it? Had he murdered his own father? Was her boyfriend a killer? Isaac was too sweet and gentle to be a monster, but if he didn't who did? She wasn't even sure she knew him anymore; everything had been a lie.

The weather worsened, obscuring the road. She hiccupped and pulled over onto the shoulder. She killed the engine and unbuckled herself. She pulled her knees up to her chest and let the salty wetness fall freely. Her heart was tearing itself to pieces and she didn't know how to handle the pain. This wasn't something that was supposed to happen. She needed to assess the situation all around, needed to think clearly and logically.

After a few calming breaths she rested her cheeks on top of her knees. She needed questions answered before she could make any decision. For starters was she willing to even accept what they were? Well, there was no denying what was already in front of her face. Maybe a better question would be if she could accept whatever they may have done in the past. Her stomach churned at the thought that any of them were killers. She'd have to trust them to tell her that at least before passing judgment. And could she handle it? That took more consideration.

Isaac had become a large part of her life in such a short while. She'd fallen head over heels for him ever since that day in the cemetery, certainly not the conventional romantic nesting ground. His smile was always available, and he adored her in ways her father had her mother. He treated her like a princess, easily led around by her whims. He was slightly protective and possessive whenever they were in public, but never controlling. He was loyal to his friends, and never once chose her over any of them- though she'd never ask him to. Isaac was perfect for her…she couldn't let him go.

She sighed heavily, and hugged her knees tightly. So she'd overreacted by storming out. But at that moment she needed her distance. It helped her clear her mind and think. Oh yeah, she was beyond pissed at all of them for keeping her in the dark for so long about all of it, but apparently one of them had asked to have her included. Iris wanted to go back, to speak her mind.

Sitting up she turned the key expertly in the ignition. The engine sputtered for a minute, then silenced. She shook her head in disbelief and tried again, a third time, a fifth time. After each try the purr of the engine grew quieter and quieter until it made no sound at all. Mentally cursing, she dug around in her purse for her phone. She dumped the contents onto the seat and pawed through them furiously. Damn; she'd left her phone at the house. She threw her head back and stared at the roof of the car. It was raining far too hard for her to walk back, but it was dangerous sitting on the side of the road without protection. At least at the house there were people who could spare her some clothes.

Sighing, Iris removed her keys and wallet and stowed them in her pocket. She opened her door and stepped into the wet road. It was slightly flooded, but she could manage. Drawing her arms close around her body, she began stumbling over the slick pavement toward what she hoped was Derek's house. The wind gusted malignantly, blasting her with sprays of icy cold water. She was drenched within seconds to her bones. Her teeth clattered against each other, but there was no way to fight the cold. More than once she found herself sprawling in the mud, and the farther she pressed into the trees the more convinced she became that she was lost. She couldn't even tell which direction she'd came from.

She leaned against a tree and coughed. She was tired and cold. She needed something to drink, a warm blanket, and Isaac. She should have stayed in the safety of her car until it decided to work; anything else would have been smarter than trying to brave a storm on her own without a jacket. Iris hugged herself and tried vainly to see through the pouring rain. It was near impossible to see her own hand. Damn she'd gotten herself into trouble this time.

* * *

The doorbell rang and Chris looked up from his perch on the couch. He snapped the old photo album closed and replaced onto the book shelf easily. His hand wiped around his eyes and he sat down his small glass of whiskey. He liked to walk down memory lane sometimes, to remember when things made sense in his life. Allison had never seen him drunk or even nostalgic and now would not be the time. Regardless of what others may think of his daughter, she was still a little girl in some cases. He had to be that rock she'd been lacking the last year.

He walked to the door and pressed his eye to the peep hole. He was more than startled to see his nephew standing on his front porch. He hadn't seen the boy since they'd lived in D.C. He wasn't aware that his least favorite brother in law was in town. Had he ordered the hunters here? It seemed highly unlikely considering the man wasn't even note worthy; his late wife just happened to be.

Chris pulled open the door and took in a full view of Gabriel. The boy was small for his age, looked underfed. His black hair had grown out some as well, hanging in his face and down just past his ears. He still had a baby like rounded face with matching dimples in his cheeks. He seemed down and out of place there, but Chris was delighted to see him all the same.

"Gabriel what a nice surprise. It's great to see you. How is your father? Is he here with you?" He stepped aside and let the kid walk in. Gabriel didn't meet his eyes, but stepped into the foyer anyway, looking about him in silence.

"Is Ally here?" the boy whispered. Chris closed the door and followed his nephew into the kitchen. The boy leaned against the door frame and started fidgeting with the edge of his shirt. Chris smiled softly; it reminded him a little of the Stilinski boy.

"No son she's out with some of her friends. Do you want a soda? Something to eat maybe; you look skinnier than Allison." He joked lightly. The kid shrugged and Chris set about making him a sandwich. Though he was not a man of conversation the silence felt uncomfortable and tense. He opened a fresh bag of Fritos and poured a good amount onto a plate with two ham sandwiches. He reached in the refrigerator and pulled out a can of orange soda; he'd make it up to Allison later.

He carried the snack to the table and sat it down before sitting in the chair opposite it. Gabriel hesitated, eyeing him strangely before taking a seat and biting into it. Chris let him eat quietly, getting his questions lined up in his head. Gabriel knew who the hunters were and what they did, so the boy had to have some inkling as to what was going on here. And if not he'd have the identities of the other hunters there.

"So Gabriel is your father here?" he asked conversationally. The boy slowed his chewing, then shook his head and swallowed.

"Nope, I'm here with a few friends." He popped a few chips into his mouth and stared intently at his plate. Chris wasn't sure to make of that. It seemed unlike Jonathan to let Gabriel out of his site like that.

"He let you travel to the other side of the United States with a group of teenagers?" That didn't seem like his brother in law at all. The man was immature and childish like his wife, but even he was a parent when the time called for it.

Gabriel scowled at him across the table, taking a vicious bite of the second sandwich. "I don't think my father's parenting methods should be questioned _uncle." _He said the word as if it were something profane and nasty to utter. Nonetheless, Chris held his temper and remembered whose son this was. With his parents being who they were the kid was bound to have a snarky side.

"No harm Gabriel I swear. So who are these friends and what are you doing here?" He leaned forward expectantly. The boy assessed him for a moment before setting sown the remainder of his lunch. He leaned forward as well.

"They are people I have sworn my absolute loyalty to. And as for what we're doing, it's just doing the work our ancestors first started."

A chill ran up his spine at the cold words the child spoke. "I can't say I'm sure what you mean Gabriel."

"Wolves. That's why we are here. That's why you're here. We came to end the madness that started a long time ago before more innocent people can die." He spoke calmly, but there was something off in his expression.

"There isn't a problem here son. The pack is safe otherwise I would have dealt with them by now."

"Oh I highly doubt that. How many hunters have died since you moved here? Where are the culprits to match that body count? Why aren't their bloodied heads hung on your walls? Why aren't their hearts preserved as trophies? You apparently have forgotten what a hunter is _uncle." _

Chris felt his temper snapping. What the hell was this kid even talking about? He sounded insane. It reminded him of how Allison had sounded, how Kate had sounded; it wasn't right. "There is a code we follow Gabriel. The pack has never killed an innocent person in this town. You can't possibly understand that. But the issue here is who ordered you and your friends here in the first place? You can't run around killing people Gabriel; you're just a child."

The boy swiped out with his arm, sending the plate flying and shattering against the wall. Chris was startled at his reaction. His face was red and he was trembling from head to foot. "They are monsters! Monsters! How dare you defend them? They killed your wife, your father, your sister! And you dare say they've never killed an innocent person? We will eliminate them and if you take their side we won't hesitate to blow your brains out!"

He whirled and stomped from the house. Chris was still stunned at the boy's reaction. His expression, his words of rage, but mostly what he'd said. The way he'd spoken sounded more radical than he'd ever heard before…or maybe he had. But it couldn't be; Gerard was presumed dead. And how would he contact the child anyway without Jonathan knowing? But someone had fed the boy those acidic thoughts and it worried him. He may not like Jonathan all that much, but he'd promised to watch over the boy should it become necessary. It seemed as if he and whoever he was currently living with were being led by a maniac; they were in danger. He'd have to get Allison to help him watch over the child. He would not let Kate's only child die.

* * *

**Author's Notes: YES, bet you didn't see that one coming! I know… Gabriel doesn't exist in the actual show…but this is my story so he does. But anyway I really hope you like it since things are finally about to heat up – I couldn't hold out much longer since everything is in my head already and I'm done teasing you. But review as soon as possible so I can update. **


	10. Roll of Thunder

_The rain is really coming down, _the sheriff thought to himself, reentering his office. He'd just responded to a domestic violence case, one that had broken his temper. The little waif of a woman had been beaten senseless and then some. Her husband had hit her so hard he'd popped a blood vessel and left half of her heart shaped face purple. He'd apparently gone after some of the smaller children when the oldest, a twelve year old boy, stepped up to take the pounding. It boiled his blood like nothing else did to see a man hit a woman or child. They were the protectors and providers, not the thieves and abusers. His deputies hadn't said a word when he'd barged in and tackled the man, getting in a few good swings himself.

He groaned and shook out his fist tiredly. He shouldn't have let his emotions cloud his judgment, but there were some things that couldn't be helped; and as Stiles had pointed out venting was healthy. He smiled wanly at the joke and sat behind his desk to begin his paperwork. He yawned and looked at his watch. With any luck he'd be out of there before ten that night, and that was if he didn't procrastinate a second further.

John grumbled to himself and began the tedious work of filling out the night's events, including his little ordeal. He didn't get very far before his thoughts began to drift to other, off limit topics. It didn't bother him his son was gay or bisexual, but…well he had been looking forward to being a grandfather. Then of course that meant he and his son would have to have the _talk _but now in a completely different way. He had always imagined some bent out of shape father screaming at his door because his daughter had been deflowered by his son; though now there was the possibility that his son would be… Hell no; he would stop _that _thought right there.

He shook the horrid images from his mind and took a long swig of cold coffee. It slid down his throat like mud, but he drank in earnest anyway. Stiles didn't approve of his caffeine intake so he favored as much as he could get. He chuckled to himself, imagining what Lilliana would make of him being afraid of his spastic teenage son's wrath. Hell the woman would probably take her boy's side and encourage him. He shook head again and let himself laugh a little at his own expense.

There was a soft tap on his door and John looked up, smile still in place. "Come on in." The door edged open and once again his shy little deputy poked her head in. She'd have to learn to loosen up around him; really he was an okay guy. He was about to make note of that but her expression caught him off guard. She looked incredibly pissed but scared at the same time. "What's the matter?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a deeper, grave voice. A robust man pushed the door open the rest of the way. He had a mane of silver hair cut short in a strict army style buzz; his eyes were a blue/ gray mixture that suggested that he was well into his upper ages; and his face was lined with the age of a man that had seen too much.

"Sorry to intrude Sheriff, but I need to speak with you about an urgent matter." He looked at John's deputy pointedly. "Alone if you please."

John didn't particularly condone people bullying those under his belt, nor waltzing around as if they were in charge. He brought himself to his full height, staring the man down. "She can stay. What can I do for you?" He made sure to keep his voice light but firm. The other man rolled his eyes.

"I'm the chief of police in Sacramento, not too far from here actually. About a day or two ago we had a gruesome triple homicide." The man kept his eyes glued to John's. John felt saddened by the news, but wasn't quite sure what that had to do with him.

"I see; any suspects in custody?" he crossed his arms and leaned back against his desk. The old man's face seemed to age ten years and he shook his head. John knew that feeling all too well. They were there to protect and deliver justice, but the sad truth was justice wasn't always going to come. It was a hard thing he had to live with as a cop, and probably why he drained his sorrows in a bottle every now and again. The victims always lived with you.

"No, none in custody at this moment. But that's what brought me on up here. You see, I'm looking for the only suspect we have, and tell is that he's from here." The man reached in his coat pocket and revealed a crumpled and slightly torn piece of paper. He held it out to John and he took it quietly.

Now, as a veteran he knew that there was protocol to be followed, that certain procedures had to be met. He knew that any and all suspects had to be taken into questioning at least to prove their innocence. He knew it was the law, what he'd taken an oath to years ago. It was what gave him the strength to walk away from his son every day, to pull the trigger when necessary. He knew that to be a cop your emotions had to be sealed away. But not this time. Every cell in his body screamed in fury as he looked down into the face of Jackson Whitmore.

He was aware of the chief waiting for him to speak, but he couldn't meet his eyes. "Why is he the suspect? He's obviously just a boy."

The man's voice sounded tired, as if he'd explained this before. "I didn't want to believe it either, but well he had to have done it. He had motive, opportunity, and was virtually untraceable."

"Then how did you know his name and where to locate him?" John cut in. His hands were shaking. He needed all the information he could gather before launching an investigation of his own. He'd be damned if he'd let anything happen to that boy.

"The victims made it well known that their first child would be visiting them, that they'd given him up for adoption when they were kids. A few people had seen the kid and we were able to derive a sketch and start digging around. Then these articles start popping up about a kid apparently getting stabbed during a lacrosse game and his picture was right there. But we were certain it had to be him because he was last seen at the family's home a day before they were murdered."

"How long had they been dead?" he whispered.

A loud boom rattled the window and a bright light flashed across the sky. It caught the chief's face, highlighting those worry lines again. "Give or take a week and a few days."

The sheriff felt something in the pit of his stomach shatter. Good God the boy's parents were murdered? Monica and Eric were dead? It didn't feel right, that they had been so close and were now gone. But that didn't mean Jackson was responsible. He'd been missing for over a week already. But instinct told John to keep that from this chief. "I'll keep a look out around town for him, start asking the locals any questions. But he's a good kid so I highly doubt this is his doing."

The chief raised an eyebrow. "You'll do no such thing sheriff. This is not your case to be working. I want to speak to anyone who has contact with the boy."

John narrowed his eyes at him. No one ordered him to do anything, nor could they stop him. Jackson was one of his own, and he refused to let any other beat cop take him under. And what this guy was asking for meant exposing the others to him. He wouldn't do it. "You don't have probable cause to interview any of the minors of this town without my consent. Besides I can get them to talk better than you can." He didn't try to hide the hostility.

The chief took a step toward him. "I can get a warrant if need be. I don't care about the little hick town brats; I care about catching a killer. If you stand in my way sheriff there will be hell to pay." The man turned on his heel and lumbered out of the office. John waited until he heard the door slam before throwing himself into action. They had to find Jackson, and had to warn the others. Something was going on here, something that required a little illegal police work.

He turned to his deputy that was watching him fearfully. "Alright here's what I need you to do. Haul ass to Sacramento and get me those files, coroner reports, everything they have. I want the details on everyone working the case as well. Do it discreetly and get over to the Whitmore's. I want them in protective custody until we find Jackson, do you hear me?"

She nodded and flew from his office. He snatched up his phone and dialed his son's number. Stiles didn't pick up and he cursed loudly. He then tried Derek's cell with the same result. Damn, what was the point of having a phone if no one was willing to answer? He began to pull on his coat when a loud clap of thunder shook the ground and suddenly everything went black.

* * *

Isaac sat quietly looking out the window, not speaking to Derek who was driving or Stiles who kept shooting him worried glances. He didn't want to speak to any of them at the moment, not until his heart stopped hammering and his head spinning. Iris had not taken things the way he had expected her to. He hadn't expected her to take it lightly or laugh it off, but he didn't imagine her walking away without looking at him. It had felt like a cold knife had been shoved into his heart when she'd pulled away from him.

He leaned his head against the cold pane of glass, the coolness soothing his headache. He heard Stiles whisper something to Derek and did his best to ignore it. It wasn't easy being able to hear every word spoken around you. He let his eyes drift back to the trees and he sighed, his breath fogging up the window. The rain continued to splatter against it, but because of his senses he could see perfectly. The moss was glistening, the trees bent under the heavy torrent. His eyes scanned them, looking for nothing in particular.

Suddenly the car lurched to a stop and his face collided with the back of Stiles' seat. There was a brief yelp from the boy, but when Isaac sat up Derek's arm was stretched tightly over his mate's chest, holding him to the seat. The alpha turned blazing red eyes on him. "You okay?" he barked to Isaac.

He nodded and unbuckled his seatbelt. "Why did we stop, what's going on?"

Derek nodded out the windshield, and while Stiles had to comically squint to make it out, Isaac had no trouble distinguishing the royal blue Honda Accord. He was out of the Camaro before the next roll of thunder, sprinting headlong into the trees. He could hear his alpha calling out to him, but he swallowed the urge to turn back. He pressed deeper into the trees, his worn sneakers sliding in the slick mud.

Her scent was heavy despite the rain. Isaac's chest flipped when he saw her huddled between two large boulders. His foot came down on a branch and her head snapped up. He watched her wipe at her face and pear into the forest. He could smell the fear pouring off of her, but her face remained composed. "Who's there?" she yelled.

He hesitated, then made his way to her. At first she jumped back, then relaxed slightly when she saw him. Yet he stopped in his tracks three feet from her. He bit his bottom lip, reading her emotions. There was a delicate blend of everything from anger to fright, but prominent above them all was the relief and pure happiness. But in her eyes he could see the confusion and hurt. She didn't appreciate being lied to and he understood that.

Iris took a hesitant step towards him. "You found me." She spoke quietly, as if unsure of herself. He said nothing, could only stare at the drops of rain on her long lashes. Then she took another step toward him. "Show me…I have to see who you really are."

She'd said who, not what. That stuck out to him more than the request itself. It meant she had accepted it as a part of him…and maybe herself. He closed his eyes, focusing on the steady thrum of her heartbeat and the swell of heat in his chest. It spread like wildfire through a dry field, encompassing every fiber of his being. His muscles expanded; his teeth sharpened; and his vision took on a grayish tinge. He was careful to breathe through his mouth rather than his nose, for fear of her scent overpowering his.

He had seen Iris through his human eyes more times than he could count, had memorized the planes of her caramel chocolate skin. He may as well have been blind. Her eyes were as deep chocolate as Allison's, though they were rimmed with a faint tinge of green and flecks of gold. Her hair was actually a rich auburn with strands of red, brown, and black intermingling freely. Her skin was flawlessly smooth, but she had faint freckles right under her eyes. Her lips were full and plump, a soft tilt to them even when she wasn't smiling. She was gorgeous.

Iris swallowed, her throat flexing at the movement. Then she reached a delicate hand cautiously towards him. He growled warningly at her and her eyes grew wide. Her bottom lip trembled for a moment, but she screwed up her eyebrows and closed the distance between them. Her arms slid around his neck and she leaned on her tip toes to be at perfect eye level with him. His hands cupped her waist to hold her there.

"Iris…this is what I am. I'm sorry I lied to you, but it was only to protect you from getting hurt. I want you to know that I will never harm you. Do you believe that?" His voice sounded thicker and lower to even his ears, more sultry.

To answer she gently pressed her lips to his and he immediately responded. He pulled in the reins on his wolf, and could gradually feel the heat evaporating to be replaced with a new kind of warmth.

* * *

Jackson gasped, his eyelids flying open. The room was pitch black; not even the moonlight trickled in. The pipes surrounding him groaned and dripped in earnest, as if it were raining. His deduction was confirmed by a loud clap of thunder. He winced when the concrete floor vibrated beneath him.

He had been knocked out for hours, maybe even days. His ribs had begun to heal themselves, but that didn't stop him in from wincing in pain with every inhale and exhale. His stomach had hollowed out, and his head was swimming from dehydration. He wasn't sure how long he could manage without water and food, especially since his metabolism was so high. Surely they meant to keep him alive for a while right? Unless they'd lost patience with his defiance. He dry swallowed and was thrown into a fit of coughs. His throat was arid and hot; he craved water.

His vision swam for a moment and he was forced to close his eyes to ward off the nausea. He tried to center his thoughts on anything but the predicament he was in, but being alone with one's thoughts tend to make it worse. Jackson had still not seen or heard his sister, and his hope that she was still alive was deflating inside him. If she were dead it was all his fault. Neither Rebecca nor his parents knew what he really was; they couldn't possibly have information about him or the pack, thus making them useless to hunters.

That was the part he could figure at least. It made sense didn't it? Who else was knowledgeable enough to know how to incapacitate a werewolf without detection? And it was obvious they were after the pack; he just couldn't figure how they'd found him and known who he belonged to. He knew it had something to do with those months his memories were shrouded in suppressing shadows, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't pull anything from them. Maybe if he had a clue as to who was behind this he could figure out a plan.

His thoughts were interrupted when the metal door crept open. He turned his head from the blinding light, but squinted at the person in the doorway. It was not the same man that had tortured him for days, but a slightly taller one. The man approached boldly, not bothering to hide his face. He was certainly handsome, with a strong square jaw, chocolate eyes, and high cheek bones. His hair was butchered short, though even that seemed to work for him. His eyes were cold and filled with a deep and unwavering loathing.

Jackson felt himself shrinking away from more torture, more pain. The man smirked and it ran chills up Jackson's spine. "What's the matter pup, you afraid of me?" There was another loud clap of thunder overhead and Jackson stared at that floor.

Two pincer like fingers roughly grabbed his chin and forced his head up. He struggled, but was forced to meet those evil eyes dead on. The man reeked of wolfs bane and blood, making his stomach lurch and curl. The scent was familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. "You are going to look at me when I'm talking to you, mongrel. There's been a slight change in plans; but don't worry, we are still going to destroy that pathetic pack of yours…Starting with that cute little red head."

Jackson snarled at him. It was enough to kidnap, starve, and beat him, but no one touched Lydia. She was his and no one could have claim on her. "You keep your fucking hands…" His gut exploded in agony and he released a strangled cry. The man pulled out the small blade and held it up to his face.

"I didn't ask you to speak. You monsters are inferior and when we are through you will know your place. You took everything from me, and now you will pay."

"I did nothing to you, you sick and twisted bastard." He spat, forgetting his vow of silence and letting his frustration flow. The hunter scowled shoved the small knife into his upper thigh. He bit back a scream but his eyes watered.

"You are the very thing that has killed hundreds of people for centuries, and now I will make sure you never touch a human again." He stepped back and swung his fist hard into Jackson's jaw. His head snapped to the side and bright spots danced before his eyes. The hunter swung again and again, bashing his brains in. Jackson tried to draw out the wolf, but it was too painful to concentrate on anything but staying conscious.

Then the hunter did something he found appalling and stupid. He reached above him and unhooked his bindings, letting him crash into a heap on the ground. Jackson wheezed as he staggered to his knees, clutching his abdomen. He was too weak to even stand. The hunter kicked him in his ribs and he rolled over, coughing. The blows became more erratic, every inch of his skin was abused. And a frightening realization hit his core. He wasn't healing fast enough. His body was too weak to even heal itself to match the blows of a human.

Jackson felt the room spinning and he coughed again, this time a thick liquid dribbling down his chin. He tasted the blood and knew something in him was terribly wrong. But there was little time to dwell on that matter. Strong hands wrapped around his neck and flipped him over so that he was staring into those cold eyes again. "We will kill you", he began tightly, "Not today, but soon. And nothing you do will stop that."

He stood and dusted himself off, and as an afterthought aimed another kick at his head. The darkness began to creep over him, but before reality could slip away he felt a bag of sorts being slipped over his head and his wrists and ankles being bound. Next thing he knew he was being carried away, just as another boom of thunder shook the ground.

* * *

**Authors Notes: Sorry about the late update, but I had to write very carefully here. Okay, so just so you all know 1) nothing happened to the sheriff (yet), the power just went out in the station. 2) he's not set up with anyone yet, but that will become important later on, just trust me. 3) yes, now the suspense will really start. 4) someone asked me privately if anything… "adult" like was going to happen in this story. My answer for now is maybe only because other viewers haven't really shown interest in that, but if they do there will possibly be some. Yeah this was long and drabblish, but review and tell me what you think. **


	11. Secrets and Nightmares

The rain continued to fall in unrelenting torrents on the roof of the Camaro, creating a steady and soothing lullaby accompanied by the deafening booms of thunder and flashes of lightening. Derek kept his eyes trained firmly on the stretch of pavement in front of him, hands throttling the steering wheel. His heater hummed as it lasted them with crisp hot air.

Derek was silently fuming, his annoyance with Isaac taking the forefront of his mind. He understood completely why the teen had spirited off into the forest, any of them would have done it; but he had disobeyed a direct order and that did not sit well with him. The call of the alpha was a strong, unyielding pull at the beta wolves that only an equal or stronger power could damage. When he howled or demanded they do something there was no resistance to be had. Sure they grumbled and complained, but in the end the task would be done. Not that he swung his weight around with them or anything; he was fair and gave them a choice like any good alpha would.

But that didn't negate that something had gone wrong that day. He hadn't given Isaac a choice, yet the beta had ignored him. He had never heard or witnessed such a thing. When he had been younger his father's word was law; there was no ignoring a command no matter how small. It worried him that maybe he was losing his grip or control. It meant far more than simply telling his betas what to do; it meant being able to make decisions to protect them and their best interests whether they like it or not. True there was no danger in the area today, but what about next time?

He ran a hand through his hair tiredly, sparing a glance at Stiles in the passenger seat. The boy's face was flat against the window, his mouth hanging open. He snored just soft enough to slip past Derek's senses and his heartbeat was slow and steady for once. Every few minutes a limb would twitch or he'd say something completely ridiculous; that was not a surprise really. His hair, which he'd allowed to grow out some, was disheveled and sticking out at odd angles. The whole scene looked hilarious and peaceful at the same time.

Derek knew that calm dreams were few in number, and with every one of them he felt a flood of guilt and relief; guilt that his own selfishness was partly the cause of the nightmares and relief that he was starting to heal. He loved watching him sleep nonetheless. There was a childlike innocence in Stiles that sometimes only breached the surface when he was slumbering, and Derek was pleased to see that even after everything he'd endured it was still there.

Stiles shifted and started mumbling under his breath. Derek cocked his head to the side and listened with great interest. He heard Scott and Isaac's name quite a lot and that irritated him. He couldn't help he wasn't the sharing type; even as a child he'd fight viciously over his things. It was just like earlier when Lydia had been so close her scent began to gradually overpower his own; his wolf didn't like it. The others found it hilarious while he found it grating that his betas were receiving the majority of Stiles' attention. Yes, they were friends and his wards had a knack for winding up in some sort of trouble; it was only natural for them to have a relationship that was frustratingly adorable.

He returned his focus to the slippery road ahead of him. Speaking of the pack, he was really getting worried about Jackson. The kid had promised them he'd be gone for about three weeks, but three weeks had evolved into five with constant communication up until two weeks ago. Lydia was growing more and more restless as the days dragged on and it was taking its' toll on her. She knew how to present herself as the put together princess the world expected, but lately he'd seen the dark circles under her eyes and smelled the anxiety rolling off her.

But what bothered Derek most was the lack of feeling. As alpha he was in tuned with his betas thoughts and feelings no matter how far they traveled. Even when Erica and Boyd had tried ditching he'd been able to feel every ounce of anticipation and fear. And even though Jackson was a few towns over Derek had been able to sense him, that is until he vanished. He wasn't sure what could cause him to suddenly stop feeling his pack member. Jackson wasn't dead; he would have felt it immediately, they all would have. He'd give it two more days, then he would start tracking and finding the boy. Something didn't sit right with the whole thing.

A streak of lightening split open the sky, startling him from his thoughts. They were approaching the police station and by the looks of it the street was having a rolling black out. He slowed the Camaro before pulling it to a stop against the curb. The station's emergency lights were flashing through the window, but other than not it appeared pitch black. Derek shivered slightly, unwillingly recalling the last time he'd been there when Jackson was the Kanima.

The door to the station swung open and the sheriff stepped out, roughly cursing under his breath. The man trotted/ stomped over to his cruiser before stopping, back erect. His left hand inched towards his weapon and he looked around the parking lot. His eyes landed on the Camaro and he exhaled. "Damn it all Hale, why didn't you or Stiles pick up your phones?" he mumbled.

Derek slapped his palm to his forehead. They'd forgotten their phones back at the house. He killed the engine and after looking at Stiles' sleeping form stepped into the rain. He hurried over to John's side, the man glowering at him. From his scent he was pissed and that was taking it lightly. "What happened? Werewolf business?"

The sheriff paused to look around before answering. "I'm not sure what the hell is going on, but Jackson is in trouble. The chief of police up in Sacramento is down here snooping around looking for him. He's a suspect for the murder of his birthparents and little sister."

Derek kept his face composed, but underneath his mind was racing a mile a minute. "How did they know who Jackson was and where he came from?"

"Says they ran across him by accident, but I'm not buying it. One of my deputy's are going to head up there to do a little digging."

"Maybe we should-" Derek started before John shook his head firmly.

"I need you all to stay here. The chief is going to try and get at the kids to see if they know anything, and I'll be damned if he pulls any of them into an interrogation room."

Derek nodded, though he knew that the sheriff knew that he couldn't keep that promise. He could order the betas to stay put, but he would investigate what was really going on. John ran a hand down his face and looked past Derek at the Camaro, at his slumbering son in the front seat. He then looked Derek square in the face and the younger man took an involuntary step back. He'd never witnessed such intensity in the eyes of the sheriff, but now he knew where Stiles got it from.

"I don't need to stress how important to keep those kids safe until this matter is resolved…and I may sound selfish when I say this, but especially my son. Something about this doesn't feel right and I will not have him in the crossfire. So that's why I'm asking you to not tell him anything about any of this."

Derek stared at the man incredulously. He was asking him to lie to protect his son? How twisted was that? But hadn't Stiles had the same intention? He had lied continually to keep his father out of harm's way at all cost. He knew that his dad wouldn't let sleeping werewolves lie and risked losing his closest relative emotionally. And here was the sheriff asking him to do the exact same thing. He didn't know if he'd be able to. A major part of him agreed that it was necessary for his safety, but the remaining parts felt it disloyal to lie to him. Could he so it?

He looked warily at John. The man seemed to age before his eyes, the shadows under his eyes standing stark against his pale pallor; stressed induced lines wrinkled his forehead when he frowned; he even smelled as if he were wearing down.

"Derek look I can't pretend to understand your…relationship with my son or why he's interested. I can't lie and tell you I approve of the relationship either, but if Stiles is safe and happy I'll complain silently. My point is that I know he means a lot to you and that you don't want him hurt again. Those nights when I had to sedate him before he could hurt himself from his nightmares were horrid to say the least. I'm afraid that if he gets too close..."

Derek reached out and lay a hand on John's wet shoulder. He understood what the man was struggling to say and had it been anyone else he wouldn't take the plea to heart. Here was a man willing to watch his son fall in love with a dangerous beast without interfering; Derek could do this one thing for him.

"I won't tell Stiles anything, but my betas have to know. They won't say anything either. I'll also tell Allison." He still harbored an ingrained distrust of the Argent family, but considering Allison had sided with them and was a conditional pack member he would keep her in the loop as well.

John nodded absently before relaxing. "Do you mind taking him to Scott's house for the night? I just have a feeling it won't be long until that pompous asshole of a cop finds out where I live."

Derek chuckled. "Okay sheriff. And if you find anything, don't hesitate to tell me."

They shook hands briefly, then Derek walked back to his car and slid in, started it up, and drove away.

* * *

Allison slipped out of her shoes in the doorway, twisting her damp hair as she went. She shivered and shrugged out of her denim jacket and hung it on the coat rack. The storm had finally subsided to a light drizzle, but a horridly chilly wind had picked up.

She padded barefoot into the kitchen, her stomach growling. She opened the fridge and pulled out the last of the macaroni casserole, licking her lips as she popped it into the microwave. The smell of cheddar, mozzarella, and parmesan made her mouth water; her dad was a damn good cook. She reached back into the refrigerator, frowning slightly when she couldn't find her special soda. Her dad was as much a caffeine addict as she was, but even he wouldn't touch the drink.

The microwave dinged and she quickly got her food. She sat at the dining table, avoiding staring at her mother's or Kate's chairs. As per usual thoughts of the two infiltrated her mind. Admittedly she and her mother had been on different terms at the time of her death, but there had been good times before then. They'd laughed and gone shopping and she'd talked to her about things her dad could never know. The wedge that had sprung between them was due to her alliance with the wolves. It was the same thing with Kate. Kate had been her older sister and best friend. She was the one Allison could complain to when things got bad; someone she could talk to about boys and sexual things. Kate had always been just a phone call away; but both were gone now.

She ate quietly, the loneliness settling in around her like a compress. An all too familiar weight settled on her shoulders; a metal fist clenching her heart; a cold numbness rippling through her lungs. She recognized the signs of a panic attack and pushed from the table. The attacks only occurred when she was left with too much time to think to think about her dead loved ones; they were unpredictable.

Allison rushed to the guest bathroom and slammed the door closed. She felt the cool tile hit her knees and gripped the sides of the toilet. The first shiver ran up her spine, her back arched, and acidic vomit spewed into the toilet bowl. Her vision wavered as another roll of vomit crept up her throat. Her ears felt stuffed with cotton, her limbs as heavy as leaded weights. And then her heart was thrumming so hard her ribs screamed in protest. She released the toilet and curled into a fetal position, succumbing to the blackness slipping over her eyes.

_Allison was standing in a clearing, a bow and quiver in her hands. Her leg was throbbing painfully, but she didn't feel intense pain. A soft light was falling on her, the wind lifting and twirling in her hair. It had to be early summer/ late spring, but that didn't make any sense because it was almost October. _

_She heard a low whimper across the field and her eyes snapped to the crouching figure huddled against a tree. Allison tightened her hold on her weapon and approached cautiously. Her nose crinkled at the rotting smell of flesh and decay. She stopped feet from the majestic beast. It had soft midnight black fur that hugged its' slender body and electric blue eyes. _

_The wolf stood over a deer's half eaten corpse, his muzzle dripping with blood. It watched her curiously, as if trying to figure her out. It raised its' pink nose and timidly sniffed the air. Allison watched the flash of recognition in them and the creature took a hesitant step towards her. She held her ground as it slowly approached, its' movements graceful and sleek. The animal walked until it was close enough to press its' soft and wet nose against her palm. _

_She dropped to her knees until she was eye level with it. The blue eyes were round, sad, and innocent. She saw her reflection in them, but so much more. She slowly ran her hand through the fur, shocked at the absolute fluffy plush of it. It leaned into her hand, a deep purr rumbling in its' chest. _

_Allison heard another small sound and looked over her shoulder. Coming out of the trees in regal beauty, were six wolves of different size and coats. The smallest had shiny, well groomed russet fur and soft green eyes; the one farthest to the left had an unruly tan pelt and die hard adorable puppy eyes; the slightly larger wolf next to him had dark chocolate fur and eyes as black as night; a slender and slightly more energetic gray wolf with blue gray eyes pawed at the ground; the wolf beside it kept it's chocolate eyes trained on her face, the wind lightly lifting its' sleek tawny hide; and the largest of them all had fur darker than the wolf she was petting, it's eyes an ocean of crimson and gold. They came until they formed a loose semi circle around her. _

_Strangely, she wasn't afraid of them, felt completely at ease surrounded by a pack of beasts. A pack of wolves that looked utterly strange and rag tag, that were calm around her who was easy prey… Her eyes widened and she looked at them. She continued to stroke the fur of her little wolf, but her eyes swept over the line of wolves before her. She knew each and every one of them; Lydia had the russet fur, Erica had the gray pelt, Boyd was obviously the bulky dark chocolate wolf, Isaac was the tan one, Scott was the tawny wolf, and Derek the largest. An incredulous smile touched her lips._

_She turned back to her little friend who was still pressed against her. "And you must be the elusive Jackson Whitmore." The wolf ran a tongue over her hand and she giggled. She only wished her family could see them here in that clearing, see the unprecedented beauty and elegance they carried themselves with. These were not the bloodthirsty monsters she'd seen in movies or heard about in the old lore. She wanted them to see who they really were. _

_Allison pulled away from Jackson and started towards Scott. She wasn't more than half a meter away when an arrow sank into his neck. She screamed and jumped back. Her friends' ears flattened against their heads and a volley of arrows and bullets pelted them mercilessly. Thick crimson blood spurted on her and pooled on the ground as each of her comrades fell. Derek growled and snapped his teeth furiously, but he was stuck in front of Lydia, protecting the smallest female who's side was gushing profusely. _

_She picked up her discarded weapon and swung around on her attackers. Her heart caught in her throat. There was Kate, standing tall and sexy, but her throat was torn open and her clothes were spattered in blood. Her eyes were coal black and colder than she remembered. Her hair and face was covered in dirt, as if risen from the graves. She held a simplistic yet deadly metal crossbow aimed at Derek and Lydia. And next to Kate stood her mother, pointing a silver gun at her. Her mom's hair had grown some, hanging just to her shoulders; her eyes were steel gray; lips pressed into a tight line. She too, looked freshly risen from a grave. _

_Both approached in deadly synchronization. Allison felt her knees knocking together and tears running streaks down her bloodstained face. She raised her weapon uncertainly and Kate let an arrow go. It sank into her shoulder and fire exploded in her veins. She dropped her bow and dropped to her knees. Her aunt and mother looked sneered down at her. _

"_You are a disgrace to this family." Kate spat. "They kill our mother and I and you run with them as if it were nothing." _

"_You are no daughter of mine." Her mother's words cut deep into her chest. Allison shook her head. _

"_No, I am not like either of you. I do protect people, I don't kill without provocation." The words hurt to say, but they'd been brewing within her for a year now. She was not a killer or a huntress. She was a girl who loved and lived o protect those she adored. _

_She closed her eyes and sighed. "I am a part of this pack. I will be a werewolf." The cool metal pressed against her temple and she took her last shaky breath. Then there was blackness._

* * *

**Author's Notes: Sorry for the long update! I was busy with the talent show at my school and stuff. But here's the next chapter, and I may have another posted either tonight or tomorrow because the creative juices are running! Yes I played around with Derek's possessiveness because it will become a major part of the story - wink wink- and because to me it's adorable. please don't shoot me. :)**


	12. Rabid

The bedroom door creaked open and Derek's eyes snapped open. He suppressed a growl, but uncurled himself by the corner. Melissa McCall poked her head in and tiptoed to the mass of sleeping teenagers. She gently brushed her lips across each of their foreheads, lingering a moment longer over Scott and Stiles. She adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder and turned. She jumped a foot in the air and clutched at her chest when she saw him watching from across the room. Her heart sped up for a fraction of a second before she fixed him with a stern motherly look and gestured to the hallway.

Derek stood, stretching his hands over his head and shuffling out after her. He slid the door closed behind him and focused on Ms. McCall. The woman had brown green eyes shadowed by long eyelashes. Her brunette hair hung in a damp ponytail down her back and she wore minimal makeup. She held her chin high, shoulders squared, and back erect; she stood with the confidence of a person who was facing the world but refused to show it. Melissa scrutinized him in ways reminiscent of his mother, leaving him feeling hollow but like a child again.

"I'm going to work. Scott knows I'll be working late tonight." She kept her voice at a low, soft whisper. Derek nodded and folded his arms across his chest.

"The pack and I were going to train a little today; we really shouldn't be slacking." He ducked his head under her narrowed gaze. He smelled the worry ebbing at the edge of her floral scent, but felt the tug of maternal instincts kicking in.

"Look, Derek I…I'm still unsure about everything that has been going on, what with Scott being… Anyway, I just want to know that you are watching out for them. I don't want any of the kids to get hurt." Her voice was still soft, but a rippling firm undertone did not slip his radar. Still, he found himself unable to meet the gaze of the mother.

"Don't worry Ms. McCall, they'll be fine." He was uncomfortable to be so close to Scott's mother. She exuded the same protective pheromones his mother had, and he was greatly abashed that some were even directed towards him. He spared a glance at her and felt his chest tighten.

Melissa looked so much like her son with wide, concerned, probing eyes and her bottom lip protruding out. She lay a delicate hand on his shoulder and electric currents ran through his body at the touch. The woman didn't drop her gaze, but held his fiercely. "Not just them Derek, you too." She didn't give him time to reply. She dropped her hand and walked down the stairs.

Derek listened to the sound of her driving away and quietly crept back into the room. He let the door remain open, his mind spinning. When was the last time he'd experienced a mother's concern for him? Laura had been far from a mother figure to him in the years following the fire. He hadn't felt that need to be held and comforted, protected in such a long time that it made him sick.

He remembered the sweet smell of honey blossoms that seemed to envelope his mother wherever she went; the soft curve her lips would make when she laughed or smiled; the light dancing in her blue eyes; the warmth and utter peace in her arms. He yearned for that, to run to her when he fell and bruised himself. He recalled going into her room late at night and lying beside her, his head buried in her bosom. His mother had been everything, his shield, his friend.

Derek squeezed his eyes and shook away the waves of nostalgia. He had a new family, and while he would never forget his old one he needed to remain in the present.

He looked at his sleeping betas and shook his head. The teens were no more than a tangle of limbs; he wasn't sure where one began and another ended. He'd dropped Stiles off at Scott's the night before and then ran to lock up his house. By the time he'd come back, Scott and Stiles were passed out on top of each other, shirtless. Derek knew it was how their relationship was; they'd been brothers for years and had a certain level of comfort with one another. It wasn't too long later, around midnight that the others came. Derek would never tell them, but they'd come in sniffing and whining like new born pups, eyes closed and all. They'd whined until they were all pressed firmly against one another, and after had fallen into undisturbed sleep. He smiled despite himself. It was cute.

He yawned and walked to the window. The sun was peeking shyly over the tops of the trees, the night's storm clouds long gone. A few puddles littered the ground here and there, and a mist was rolling over the pavement. They'd be meeting for a training session that morning and he wanted to take some time to prepare. It wouldn't be a bad idea to pay Allison and her father a visit either. He would need help finding out what was going on a few towns north, and Chris would probably be better at getting information than him in any case.

Derek slid the window open and gently jumped out. He fell slowly, landing on the balls of his feet. He straightened and dusted his jeans off. Scott's neighborhood was eerily quiet in the early dawn. A few people were leaving for work, their old cars sputtering to life. All around him was a symphony of gentle snores and steady hearts, a melody of quiet whispers under breaths with a harmony of unlabored breathing. It was nice to him.

He stuffed his hands in his pocket and walked slowly up the sidewalk, enjoying the way the wind whistled around him. A few people waved at him and he was shocked to find himself returning the gesture. It must be true, he thought, I'm crossing over to the dark side. He chuckled lightly and turned onto one of the side roads. There were no vehicles in sight and he took off at a leisure jog.

It felt great to be moving for once because he enjoyed the exhilaration, not because he had to. He held back his full speed, but glowed in the motion of his arms as they pumped at his sides. It brought him back to those late summer afternoons when he, Laura, his sister Kendra, and his brother Tony would race through the trees barefoot. He being the baby always managed to lose, but he enjoyed every outing. He loved to watch Kendra's raven black hair billow out behind her as she leapt gracefully from one foot to another; he envied the prowess Tony exuded as he tore tracks through the earth; he aspired to be as agile as Laura. He loved running over the soft earth without shoes; his mama said it helped to keep them balanced and connected to the Earth in ways humans could not. He loved the sun to bathe his back while he jumped the creeks and cliffs. It brought him back.

He eventually slowed back to a walk when he entered Allison's street. Derek walked cautiously to the front door, raising his hand to knock. The door swung open, however, before he'd had a chance. Allison stood before him in sweats and a simple black tank top. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and she held a water bottle and iPod. She seemed genuinely surprised to see him. But after looking at her closely he saw faint circles under her eyes, and a small bruise on her forehead.

"Hey Derek. What are you doing here?" she stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind her. She bent over to tighten her shoelaces, then straightened to watch him carefully. Old habits die hard, he thought bitterly. They had a truce, an alliance, Allison was pack, but it was difficult for either of them to move past the transgressions both families had inflicted upon the other.

"Well we're having practice later on today, I was wondering if you would be joining." She nodded absently, but didn't relent in her scrutiny. He had to swallow and force himself to focus on her face. Her eyes were the same shade Kate's had been. "And we're having an emergency pack meeting. Your father needs to be there too."

Her chocolate eyes mimicked saucers. She understood that if he were willing to invite his enemy to his house then something important was going on. Then a shadow crossed her face and her bottom lip trembled. She ducked her head and squeezed her fists tightly. Derek could feel the tightening on the girl's muscles, hear the stutter in her heartbeat, smell the mix of emotions threatening to overflow; but the girl was holding back. She took a steadying breath that did absolutely nothing before speaking.

"Things are never going to be easy for us are they? When is this madness going to end?" she whispered to herself. Had he been a human he would have missed the near silent utterance. He felt the compulsion to soothe her and so he did.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. She hesitated, then looked up at him uncertainly. "I promise Allison that this is nothing like the other times. This is something we can handle without things hitting the fan. Don't worry." It wasn't exactly a lie; he was trying to be supportive. She nodded and grinned at him. It softened her face and the light returned to her eyes. Derek hesitantly returned it.

"Well my dad is out handling business somewhere. Want to go for a jog with me?" She started past him and he could only blink and stare at her back. Her heart had blipped.

* * *

His body was on fire. The cells in his body were screaming for release from the pain, but it was unrelenting. How many days would he endure this torture? When would they kill him already? That's all he wanted right now, more than to hold his fiancée in his arms, more than her kisses. He welcomed death, but they brought him closer to the brink every time before pulling back.

His mind was blackening, sick and twisted thoughts infiltrating the deep crevices. He couldn't sniff the air without smelling the tangy metallic thickness of blood; couldn't open his eyes without seeing red. And goodness did it hurt to open his eyes. The slightest exposure to light sent him cowering. All that time locked underground hadn't been good for him at all.

Jackson coughed and rolled over, once again trying to work his binds. The van he was in bounced and jostled him around mercilessly, and though his muscles screamed in protest he was determined to escape before they could do whatever it was they were planning. It didn't bother him anymore to resist. He knew his little sister was dead, had been dead since he was kidnapped, and therefore they had no leverage over him. He knew it the moment they'd thrown him in there. He could sense her last moments of life, up until they locked him away.

His captors were whispering in hushed tones up front, ignoring him. He didn't try to listen; he could only do one task at a time these days. One of them really did smell like death, and it unnerved him. That voice was one chilling, but he felt as if he should be responding and submitting to it. It spurred a latent bloodlust in him that he hadn't noticed before. With it came flashes of blood and green scales, but he couldn't decipher their meaning. All he knew was that the guy was connected to it, and for some odd reason he had a control over him.

The other guy smelled so familiar to him it was sickening. Whenever the man beat him he saw Allison's face, but that was impossible. The girl was his friend and was a part of the pack. Jackson wasn't sure why, but this guy was out for blood, and wanted the pack's head. He continually said it was their fault, but Jackson couldn't figure out what he meant. Whenever he said anything he was met with furious blows of rage and stabs with poisoned weapons.

The van sputtered to a stop and Jackson tore at his bindings frantically, but it was no use. He choked back a sob as the back doors were thrown open and he was bathed in cruel sunlight. He turned his head and growled out in pain. Damn they were going to kill him, he felt it in his gut this time. Beefy hands wrapped around his throat and dragged him from the van onto the woodsy floor.

The man grabbed his chin and forced him to look up. Jackson couldn't muster enough energy to even scowl at the man anymore. Still, that did not hinder his captor from backhanding him across the face. His cheek stung, but he refused to make a sound. If this was his end, he'd go down in silence.

"You listenin' to me boy? Like we said before, there's been a slight change in plans. I think this little present for your alpha will show him exactly what's waiting for you other bastards." He kicked Jackson in his abdomen and the boy folded in on himself. His face pressed against the earth, he breathed shallowly, chest burning once again. His body just wasn't healing fast enough and he didn't know how much longer he'd survive.

He felt the pressure leave his wrists and ankles, but it didn't brighten his hopes by any margin. He wanted to rip his kidnappers limb from limb, wanted out as much torment as he'd endured, but he could barely lift his head to see them leave. Jackson took a deep breath and pushed unsteadily to his feet. He swayed a minute before collapsing to his knees again. He coughed and blood spewed from his lips. He sobbed and forced himself to stand again. He had to get help, had to find Derek and the pack.

* * *

Something was definitely wrong. It was the way the wolves fidgeted and shifted at random, sniffing and growling at an invisible enemy. It was the way Lydia paced along the tree line, whining under her breath and looking expectantly into the dense shrubbery. It was the way Derek kept staring icily at Allison's back. None of it made any sense to Stiles.

He sighed and leaned against an old tree. Today was stealth training mostly, and he'd been given the task of "hunting" the wolves along with Allison. Speaking of the pretty brunette, Stiles was really anxious about her. She didn't talk with anyone about her nightmares, but even his dull human senses could see that she was deteriorating. Her smiles were slower coming these days, forced even sometimes. She clung to Scott but at the same time pulled back from him. It was as if she were trying to appease her heritage and her future at the same time. Stiles didn't find it fair, but he wasn't callous enough to tell her to choose sides already. Hadn't she done it enough?

Stiles checked to make sure his rifle was strapped securely on his back, before climbing up the tree. He climbed high enough for the large bundles of leaves to conceal him and mask his scent, but low enough for him to drop and run should "danger" arise. He silently lay flat on his stomach and drew his gun. He held his breath and let the forest settle around him.

He matched his heartbeat to the flapping of a crow's wings, matched his breathing to the tempo of the gusts of wind. Time ceased to have substantial meaning to him. In nature things just _were_; there weren't neat little slots to fit events. This was the true nature of a hunter, someone who could not just adapt, but become the area itself.

Down below a bush rustled and he quietly took aim. He held his breath and waited until the figure emerged from the trees. He released an audible gasp and nearly dropped his gun. The figure snapped its head in his direction, a viscous snarl ripping through from its mouth. Stiles flattened himself against the branch, holding his breath and attempting to stay hidden. His luck was not that good, however.

The wolf stepped closer towards his hiding spot and Stiles could clearly see the pale blue eyes speckled with flecks of gold. The sun caught the lustrous blonde hair and perfectly molded cheek bones. He released his breath in a huff and scampered down the tree, relief and irritation flooding through him. It was just like Jackson to make a big deal of coming back and scaring the shit out of him; and though Stiles was glad he had returned, the taller teen owed them all an explanation.

His feet hit the forest floor and he really took a closer look at his pack mate. His skin had taken on a sickly yellow, his eyes tinged an angry red, his hair dirty and matted with blood. His clothes were torn and burned in some places; his body held multiple scars and bruises. Jackson looked like he was dying. Stiles felt his stomach drop out of him and his vision tunneled. It was like a scene out of his nightmares, when the monster he'd become would stalk and kill him.

He took a shaky breath and focused; this wasn't about him, this was about Jackson. Stiles wasn't sure what to do, but he made up his mind quickly when the other teen collapsed to his knees. He rushed forward and threw one of his arms over his shoulder, gripped his waist, and hoisted him to his feet. The Hale house wasn't too far from here; he could get there and then alert the pack.

Jackson was like dead weight, and though he had bulked up some this past summer, it was becoming difficult to hold them both. When the house came into view he leaned Jackson against the nearest tree. The boy's body sagged, and he began to shake uncontrollably. His hands clawed at the tree, leaving gouges in its trunk; throaty growls rumbled in his chest, the red deepening.

Stiles crouched in front of him and timidly lay a hand on the wolf's shoulder. The boy jerked and glared at him. His heart skipped a beat; he'd seen that crazed blood thirsty look on Peter when he'd been rabid. He recoiled and knew instantly that was a mistake. Predators always chased their prey. Jackson jumped and had him pinned to the ground in seconds.

The wolf snarled in his face and sniffed delicately at his neck. Stiles did his absolute best not to move, but sweat was pooling on his brow and his chest was tightening. The last wolf that pinned him like this had tortured him for hours. But he knew Jackson wouldn't hurt him…right?

* * *

Jackson was near; she could feel it down to her chromosomes. The heat had rushed up her spine like a lightning bolt, the lull of her mate's scent tugging at the threads of her being. She could feel him close to her, calling her, but the scent was not his. It felt tainted somehow, but she could not forget the rugged, delicious smell of her boyfriend.

Abandoning the training session, she started back towards the Hale house, her heart thumping a mile a minute in her chest. She stopped every once and a while to listen or sniff the air, her frustration peaking. If he were here why hadn't he shown himself? Furthermore, why hasn't he called her in three weeks? It was grating on her nerves, but until he appeared there wasn't much she could do about it.

As she walked she reminisced about the day he left to meet his family, the last tender kisses they'd shared.

_ Jackson rolled off of her, their breathing labored, but satisfied. Lydia couldn't tear her eyes away from his godlike body: the perfectly toned muscles, nicely shaped cheeks flushed with pleasure, the inviting and glistening chest. She couldn't resist running her fingers over his abdomen, tracing her name and other things across the smooth skin. Little pricks of electricity raced up her fingers. Derek had explained to her once- very awkward- that sensations were heightened for mates, but she hadn't expected this. _

_ He reached down and grasped her hand in his, holding it over his heart. He pulled her closer until their naked bodies were pressed tightly together. His gorgeous blue eyes bore into hers and she felt her skin tinge pink under his scrutiny. To play it off she coyly placed a peck on his lips. He caught her there and slowly deepened the kiss, his arm snaking down and cupping her bottom. _

_ She pulled away and brushed her hair behind her ear. "Calm yourself tiger. I'm kind of tired." She laughed and laid her head on his chest. _

_ Jackson continued to stroke her back in smooth circles. His heart was sluggish, breathing almost nonexistent. Startled she spared him a glance. "What's wrong?" she whispered. _

_ He shook his head, smiling. "You're just so beautiful Lydia. I can't imagine why I never said it before." His voice was husky, shy. _

_ Lydia raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm beautiful?" He'd said she was hot, stunning, drop- dead- gorgeous, but never beautiful. Strangely, it meant more to her than any other compliment he'd given. Beauty was smiling in the midst of tears, the sun shining in the heart of a storm, the creation of a new life. For him to call her beautiful was for him to see how lost and broken she was inside and diligently hold on. _

_ His arms wrapped tighter around her body. "Yes, Lydia Ann Martin, you are beautiful." He fingered her ring and held her eyes. "Are you sure you want to wait for me? Think about it, am I really worth it?" his voice had dropped to a whisper. _

_ She propped herself up on an elbow. "Jackson don't be stupid. You know how I feel about you." _

"_Do I? Say it to me. Say that no matter what happens to either one of us what we have won't ever change. Say that you won't ever let me walk away. Tell me Lydia. Tell me how you feel." His eyes were wide pools of sincerity and it sent her heart stuttering. She didn't want to fall hard…but it was too late. It was too late the first time they'd had sex, when she'd given him everything. _

_ Lydia sat up completely and climbed out of the bed. She went to his drawers and chose the first t-shirt she could find. She slid it on and walked around to his side of the bed. Jackson eyed her warily, but sat up expectantly. She took a deep breath and slid until she was on one knee. She kept her eyes closed and fumbled for his hand. _

_ She felt the warmth envelope hers and she finally met his gaze. They stared in silence for a minute before she spoke. "Hello, my name is Lydia Ann Martin. I am a mathematical genius and the most popular girl at Beacon Hills High School. I have the perfect house, perfect family, perfect face and body. But me? The real me? I snort when I laugh. I self medicate to keep from crumbling. I put on a brave face because anything less and I'll be consumed by the jealous girls that don't walk in my shoes. I pretend my parents don't hate each other and only use me as a crutch for their relationship. I love watching geek movies and reading on Friday nights. I'm best friends with this psychotic black haired chick and this hyperactive cutie. I'm a snarky werewolf that gives Hell to anyone that pisses me off. And I'm in love with this handsome idiot who has no idea what he means to me. And now that you know me, will you marry me?" _

_ Jackson picked her up into his lap. He kissed her feverishly on her face, neck, and place he could easily reach. Then he pulled back and held her face. "Not exactly what I had in mind, but I like it. Yes, Lydia I will marry you." _

Lydia shook her head and wiped away a stray tear. All she wanted to have him back in her arms and right now she was going stir crazy. She pushed though the bushes and froze in her tracks. Stiles was pressed into the ground, heart speeding, breath coming in hurried gasps. And sitting on top of his chest, dagger like canines inches from his face…was Jackson. Her head spun, but she swallowed down the nausea.

Her mate's head snapped in her direction and she saw it then. The same hungry, blood curling stare she'd seen in Peter Hale's eyes. She took a hesitant step forward her reaching for him. "Jackson? It's me… Lydia. Let Stiles go before you hurt him; he's our friend."

Jackson flinched at the sound of her voice, but slowly climbed off the human boy. He edged towards her uncertainly, stopping after every other step. She stood her ground and looked him over. She forced down a sob. He'd obviously been beaten and tortured, probably for days. He looked like he hadn't eaten in days and he had a slight limp. She could feel him struggling to heal and that scared her.

After an agonizing eternity, he pressed his palm flat against hers. His body shook but he held her gaze. His scent was off, tainted. Someone had done something to him and she thirsted for vengeance. "Lydia…" Jackson sputtered before collapsing into her arms.

Stiles was at her side in an instant, helping her hold him. He was unconscious, but his body was still quivering uncontrollably. Lydia couldn't hold back the earth shattering tears and let them flow over her cheeks. Stiles grabbed her arm tightly and she met his eyes.

"Howl for the pack. He needs help." She nodded mutely and threw her head back, the hollow sound tearing up her throat.

* * *

**Author's notes: Sorry for the long wait, but hopefully this made up for it. My favorite part was Lydia "proposing" to Jackson. I guess I'm a fluff addict like that. Anyway, review and the next chapter will be up soon.**


	13. Theory

His hand was warm around hers, comforting and soft. Her thumb circled the smooth chocolate skin, heat flooding her veins. Touching him in anyway was electrifying, sent chills to her bone. That was why she had chosen him; that is why he was hers.

Erica lightly pushed a low hanging branch out of her way, holding it far enough for Boyd to pass through. As usual the trees were eerily silent, not counting the small animals, and empty. The woods presented a chance at sweet adventure and freedom; a likelihood of falling off the Earth into a world where passion guided your next steps, not careful planning.

She'd endured years of having to calculate her every step, how it might trigger her epilepsy somehow. Never had she been free to go where she pleased without an entourage of those burdened by her illness. She'd joined Derek in the hopes that she would truly be unchained and able to act as any normal teenager. But even then there were rules to follow, protocols that stripped away what little freedom she'd gained. That's why she loved his reaction when she kissed him, relished the way he'd let passion and want take over for just a moment before pushing her away.

That had been her goal, and standing in the midst of a nature that did not adhere to any set of rules had the air whistling through her hair and blood pumping hotly in her veins.

Boyd paused and tugged her out of her daydream. She looked at him quizzically. His eyes were darting around them frantically, nostrils flaring, and nails slightly extended. Erica straightened, suddenly on the offensive. Neither moved and a gush of wind whistled over them. The bushes closest to her rustled and Boyd immediately swung her behind his back.

That was the annoying part about her boyfriend. He was heavily protective of her even when she made it clear she could handle herself. The others didn't understand it, but she had to prove a lot more than they thought. She was always the damsel in distress, always the girl everyone was gentle with and coddled. Out of eight brothers and sisters she was the baby, even though she was child number five. No one thought she'd live, but she did. No one thought she'd function properly in the real world, but she did. There had always been something to prove, and there always would be.

They waited tensely and then Scott came stumbling out of the bushes. At first she released a sigh of relief, but it caught in her throat when she took in his haggard appearance. His eyes were wide and wild, bloodshot. His face was ashen, lips trembling, claws and canines protruding from his fingers and mouth. A foreign smell lingered around him, but it was slightly familiar.

"Y-You guys have to come to the house NOW." He gasped. He stared at them frantically, his chest visibly heaving. His body sagged slightly to one side, not enough for a human to notice but enough for Erica to catch.

She watched his chest move, listened to his heart hammering irregularly against his ribcage, and unnaturally slow compression of his lungs. Her eyes widened. "Boyd he's about to have an asthma attack! We need to get him to Derek."

The warmth left her hand and Boyd darted to Scott's side just as his knees gave way. The boy began gasping and clutching at his chest as if trying to pull a weight from him. She and Boyd took off at a mad sprint for the Hale property. As they drew nearer Erica found herself assaulted with several different pools of emotion: pain, guilt, grief, fury. She could hear the quiet lull of Stiles' voice and the broken hearted sobs of Lydia. A lead weight dropped in Erica's chest. Only one person could make the girl cry like that.

They burst into the small clearing and almost every head snapped in their direction. Isaac visibly sighed, but he ran to their side when he noticed the extra body Boyd was carrying. Isaac took Scott carefully into his arms and darted inside of the house. Stiles' eyebrows knit together and a small gasp slipped through his lips. His body quivered and he quickly turned away. Derek's eyes were red as he marched over to them.

Erica whimpered and ducked her head in submission. They were in big trouble, big, big trouble. It was obvious someone had howled, but they'd failed to receive the message. She shut her eyes and leaned closer to Boyd. Derek had gotten better with his temper, but when he did have to punish them he did it without much remorse. And she understood he wasn't heartless, it was just a part of the job. He never mauled or scarred them; probably a good throttling, but not anything major. But she didn't like pain and therefore was always afraid of discipline.

A hot, muscular arm wrapped around her head and an equally warm hand cupped the back of her head. She felt a strong shoulder lean against her own and felt pressed against a soft but hard wall. It took her a moment to realize she was being hugged, held, and embraced. Her eyes opened uncertainly and she stared at her alpha.

Derek's forehead was pressed against Boyd's and after a moment he switched to hers. She squeaked in surprise at the sensation. The minute his head touched hers fire washed over her bones, followed quickly by rolls of thunder and waves of electricity. Her body went numb from head to toe, but it felt calming and welcoming. And it was so tranquil that she could count the flutters of a bee's wings, feel the leaves break away from the trees; connect with the steady wet pulse of her alpha's heartbeat.

And then he pulled away and the connection was gone. She felt lightheaded and off balance for a minute. He stepped away and his eyes were still red and hard. Fear tickled at the back of her neck, but she kept her face blank. "What happened?"

He hesitated a minute before speaking. "Jackson's back."

She swallowed thickly. Something niggled at the back of her mind, something she should know, but it missed the mark. "That's great." She replied dryly.

Derek huffed and laid a hand on her shoulder. She shivered. "Erica…I need you to do something…something that may hurt you." His eyes locked with hers. "I wouldn't ask you to do this if there was another way…but I need to be sure if my theory is correct."

She felt her mouth moving on autopilot. "Anything, my alpha."

He hesitated, debating her answer, then nodded towards the house. "Come on."

The three of them made their way into the Hale house quietly. Erica could hear that Scott had leveled out enough to relax, though Isaac was still with him. She smiled at the bond that had developed there. Isaac looked up to Scott as a mentor when it came to wolf stuff. Isaac was always fussing over them like a mother hen. He knew they were the only family the boy had, his only treasure now besides Iris.

They took the steps two at a time, the newly waxed floorboards squeaking under their sneakers. Derek did not turn on any lights on his way, and Erica clung to Boyd's side. She was not a fan of the dark. Much of her life had been in the dark, the fear of never waking up again suffocating her and making her seizures worse off. They came to a wooden door at the end of the hallway and Derek slowly pushed it open.

Erica stepped into the room and immediately reeled back. Decay. Blood. Death. The scents choked and burned her nostrils, filling her eyes with tears. She looked around the room for the source. She gasped in surprise at the shiny tip of an arrow aimed between her eyes. Allison was crouched in front of a prone figure, weapon drawn. Her eyes were cold as ice, but red and puffy. Her jaw was set and tense, but her bottom lip trembled. She held herself with back erect, but her body shook.

"Allison lower your weapon." Derek whispered to the young huntress. Allison dropped the crossbow immediately, scooting to a far corner and burying her head in her arms. Erica smelled the sweet salt of tear and knew the girl was crying. She swallowed her brief anger; she still harbored a small distrust of the Argents, and having the weapon that almost killed you aimed at you yet again was not a welcome experience.

Derek nudged her gently and gathered her attention. "Jackson was hurt. I believe he was captured and tortured by hunters and he's not healing properly."

Erica looked at him, the foreboding growing stronger. "What do you need us to do?" Boyd's hand slipped into hers again and squeezed, offering comfort.

"I need you to tell me if you recognize any of these markings on him. That might make it easier to find who could have done this. Every clan of hunters has a unique method of torture, or so I've heard. I was captured once, but…." His voice trailed off and Erica pushed past him.

She started the evaluation by sweeping her eyes along his face. It was sheet white and decorated with bruises of varying color. She dropped to her knees and fingered them gingerly, her throat suddenly going dry. "He was punched an awful lot, but these large splotchy ones suggest that whatever he was beaten with was laced with poison." Her fingers paused over his lips. "He was gagged with something."

Erica stopped and took a deep shaky breath. She could feel the wolfsbane soaked strip wedged tightly between her teeth, biting into her cheeks. She shook her head to clear away the images. She would not think about it, not remember. She shakily pulled back the thin sheet covering his torso.

His shirt had been stripped away, revealing his chiseled chest. She licked her lips and focused on the task at hand. The flawless skin was covered in dark burn patterns and bruises and cuts. She bent closer, inspecting tiny pinpricks in his abdomen right above his heart. "It looks as if he was injected with something multiple times, possibly for torture or to subdue him. These cuts were made with a small, heavily serrated blade. And these marks…these marks…"

It happened too quickly before she could pull herself away. Cotton was stuffed into her ears and her vision turned white. Her heart jumped into a frantic blur of twirls and pumps that pounded her ribs mercilessly. She lost control of her body then, her limbs flailing and spine arching to breaking point. She gurgled and cried out in agony, but in all reality the fire now licking trails up her body was all in her mind. And then the sweet blackness crept up and her heart evened out. Her lungs slowly expanded and gradually she regained her sight.

Erica coughed and clung to the warm chest of her alpha. He'd pulled her out of the seizure, somehow he'd saved her from the worst of things. She wiped her hand shakily across her face, erasing the tears that had come. Allison had taken her hand, peering at her carefully. Erica was grateful that she was there. The look in the girl's eyes told Erica that Allison knew why she'd relapsed.

She squeezed her human friend's hand reassuringly. "I'm fine Allison, thank you." Her voice sounded hoarse and off even to her own ears.

Derek grabbed her chin and pulled her face around to face his. His eyes were still red, but had softened almost to their original hazel. Erica swallowed thickly, not used to seeing the concern in them. "Erica, we don't have to continue this. It's not worth it."

She shook her head at him. "This is to help Jackson. I have to do this for him just as I'm sure he'd do it for one of us. I'll be okay."

He seemed unsure, but she extracted herself from his arms and resumed her examination. She was careful to not linger on the burn marks. "He was electrocuted the entire time he was in captivity. It's an easy way to keep a wolf from changing. But the levels he was shocked at were high enough to kill him. It's like they were testing how far he could be pushed Derek." She picked up his arm tenderly and traced the ligature marks on his wrists. "He was tied up with electrified wires, not as strong as iron chains, but strong enough."

Derek joined her and swept his eyes over the body. "He was shot. That's the oldest wound on the body. That's how they got him." His voice was steely. Erica's blood boiled and stomach flipped. This was sickening.

Erica finally stood and walked into the hallway. She heard Derek and Boyd follow and Allison resume her post. She made sure to hold her composure until they were back in the fresh air. Lydia and Stiles were gone, but she figured that was to get Deaton over there. She took a shaky breath and then vomited onto the dead grass. Warm hands gripped her waist and held her while sobs shook her thin frame. She leaned into Boyd for support, the grief growing stronger.

She could smell it on him too, and knew he was remembering the hours of torture they were forced to endure months ago. She could still hear the spine tingling whispering of Gerard as he ran his hand through her hair and down her skin, calling her his _pretty little thing._ She cringed from the memory of him running a long hunter's knife across her belly slowly, grinning peevishly the whole time as if her blood excited him.

"Erica, I'm here, it's okay. It's okay, it's okay." Boyd whispered, peppering her face with kisses and stroking her back. She held onto him like the rock he was. He was her comforter even when he didn't have to be. He held her and let her cry until she heard tires and smelled Deaton approaching. He paused at her side and lay a hand on her shoulder.

The man had always scared her, not because he was a human, but because he knew each of them inside and out before they even spoke. He pulled a small bottle from his pocket and handed it to her. She eyed it uncertainly and he chuckled. "It's a tonic for the nerves. All you need is a small swallow. Ms. Martin had to take a whole bottle herself, but the rest of you should be ok. Where is Mr. Whitmore?" He spoke quickly and soothingly, an admirable trait. He wasn't concerned with coddling them, more with saving the one who really needed it.

Derek took the lead then. "This way." He motioned and the two disappeared into the house. Erica took a step back and swished the liquid around in the container. It smelled like water, but the color was wrong. She hesitated, then raised the bottle to her mouth and sipped. At first it was sweet, and slid down her throat easily, then a soft numbness flooded her body. She coughed and handed the tonic to Boyd. He didn't hesitate in tossing the liquid back.

Erica sighed and walked over to Stiles' jeep. He opened the passenger side door and she slid in, snapping it behind her. She wasn't surprised but amused to see Lydia curled into his lap, sniffling quietly, but otherwise asleep. One hand rested around her waist and the other was tangled in her hair. Her face was hidden in his neck and her arms were welded around his torso.

"How's she?" Erica whispered. She leaned back, tucking her hands behind her hair and propping her feet up on the dashboard.

Stiles glared at them until she huffily removed them before answering. "She's relieved he's with us, but it's a shock to see him like that. She knows he'll live, but it reminded her of that night at the warehouse and all the emotions she's kept bottled up finally made her snap. There's more, but it's not my business to tell." Erica pouted, but didn't push it.

"And you Stiles? How are you? You always worry about us, but not so much yourself." She rested her blonde head on his shoulder, looking at him through her lashes. He wouldn't meet her eyes and stared dejectedly out the windshield.

"I'm fine. It's Jackson who's not okay right now. He's dying in there. But me? I'm perfectly fine." There was no blip in the heart, no stutter in his words, but Erica knew he was lying.

She dug her nails into his arm until he looked at her. " Don't insult my intelligence. You're about as okay as I am."

"This isn't about me Erica. This is about Jackson and Lydia, maybe even Allison. This has nothing to do with me so it doesn't matter."

"Yes it does matter. This is a blow to the whole pack, and therefore it is about you. I don't know how, but you've managed to smother your emotions but they are still there. Stiles don't clam down because you think you have to." She was pleading with him now.

He looked away and shrugged. Erica didn't push him, but remained content to just lay there. Then she felt a slender arm wrap around her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

She was startled by the question and pulled back to look at him. "Of course. A little weary, but okay."

Stiles shook his head and laughed. "Now don't you go insulting my intelligence. I know what Derek had you do. I know what he asked from you and Boyd."

Erica stared at her lap for a moment in tense silence, before smashing against him again. "I'm hurting because I thought I got over it. I thought I could forget. But in there I remembered the smell of my flesh burning and his touch and…and…"

A hand slapped over her mouth and she blinked at him. He leaned forward and gently brushed his lips across her forehead. "Erica, that will never happen again. Gerard is good and dead and will never touch any of us again. I won't let anyone hurt you like that okay? Look we all need to pull together right now and start tracking down the bastards that did this. We have nothing to fear."

She nodded, but pulled his hand away. Her veins felt like ice. She leaned forward until her mouth was beside Stiles' ear. "That's the thing. I looked at his wounds and…and I don't think Gerard is dead."

* * *

The sheriff pulled the cruiser next to the gas pump and hopped out. He stretched his hands high above his head and took a deep breath. Hilary, his deputy, was already in Sacramento gathering evidence he needed to launch his own investigation. He was deeply concerned about Jackson; something had happened up there, and the boy was in trouble.

John sighed and made his way into the convenience store. The clerk, a young girl with snow white hair waved at him. He raised his hand in acknowledgement but ultimately ignored her. He walked to the back of the small store, guilt trickling into his stomach the closer he came to aisle seven. He wanted to turn around, but his feet had a mind of their own as they dragged him closer to the forbidden fruit.

He had taken up drinking soon after Lilliana died, it eased the pain. At first it was enough to simply dull his senses, but soon he needed the drunken blackouts to control himself. Nights he'd stare at the ceiling listening to his hyperactive son wail for a mother that would never come back and fantasize about ending it all. But he had been forced into reality by Melissa and others concerned for his son. He'd worked to moderate his habit, and only on special occasions did he indulge in the dark art.

John picked up the small bottle of liquor and shuffled ashamed to the counter. The albino girl smiled at him and took the bottle from her hand. He met her eyes for a minute and felt slightly creeped out. He shook his head and handed her the crumbled ten dollar bill. Paranoia was never good for a cop.

The bell over the door dinged and he looked up, tensing. The first thing he noticed was the mane of silver hair and triumphant smile on the man's face. He straightened and stepped away from the counter. The clerk looked from one to the other, but did not move. The sheriff held his chin up defiantly.

"Chief." He didn't intend to sound curt, but inner feelings had a way of mixing into his words.

"Sheriff." The man replied equally acidic. His eyes swept the store for a second, settling on the albino teen pointedly. The girl held his gaze frostily and the sheriff couldn't help but smile; the people in his town were as stubborn as nails.

He returned his attention to the robust chief and crossed his arms. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you were following me chief."

The man laughed benignly. "Oh don't be so vain sheriff. I was on my way to the station and just so happened to see your cruiser. I have a special little document for you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

The sheriff snatched it away and stowed it into his pocket. "You're making an ass of yourself chief. Nothing good will come from interrogating these poor kids about something they have no idea about."

"I'm trying to catch a killer. Surely you can understand." He shrugged and turned to door. He paused and looked his shoulder. "Don't worry, I will refrain from interviewing your son unless I have to." With that he walked out, leaving the sheriff fuming. He needed to have a long talk with Derek and soon. As if his phone buzzed and he stole a glance at it. He cursed under his breath and quickly left the store.

* * *

She watched the two men bicker back and forth, intent to gather any information. The men didn't let anything really important drop, but it was worth looking into nonetheless. The chief apparently came from Sacramento; there might be wolf activity along that way.

Erin felt slightly irritated when he stalked out before she could strike up a conversation, but that quickly disappeared when she noticed the shiny phone on the ground. She hopped over the counter and scooped it up, turning the device over in her hand expertly, a small smirk on her face. She quickly moved back behind the counter and began decoding his password. It was too simplistic: 0002.

The little message icon flashed and she quickly tapped it. Her face lit up, but her stomach dropped. Her finger traced over the name of the sender, glee and anticipation rolling in her stomach. "We have been naughty haven't we sheriff?"

* * *

**Author's notes: just as a heads up, the next "chapter" is really a buffer, clarifying some points in the story and letting you know exactly where we are time wise. Anyway, my internet was down so that's what took so long. but enjoy! **


	14. UPDATE

Author's Notes:

Okay so first I want to say thank you to everyone who has read the story thus far, I really appreciate it. I would like to clarify the time in the story. At the moment they are in early September. The story itself is set to end on Halloween, so yes it will be slow, but worth it

Second some people were confused about the group of hunters in Beacon Hills and the ones that got Jackson. I apologize for not making that connection clear. The teenagers in Beacon Hills are hunters, and dangerous ones at that. They were sent by the two hunters who kidnapped Jackson, but they don't know everything that's going on. They're basically pawns.

Okay on another note I have been asked what's going on with Iris in this. Sadly, I hate spoilers and therefore will not disclose such information unless my fans come after me with torches. But I will say that both she and Danny will have their spotlight moments pretty soon so be on the look out! I know I haven't really focused much on Stiles and Derek's relationship much at all, but trust me, their moment is coming. And as for young Gabriel, don't be hard on him. He's been through hell and as you guys will soon see, he is a lot like his cousin.


	15. Master Plan

Jackson's body twitched yet again, his heart blipping. Deaton huffed under his breath, before administering another dose of the antidote to the unconscious teen. The only light apart from the lamp he'd turned on was the pulse of the half moon. The only other people there were Lydia who refused to go and Stiles who wouldn't leave her.

Derek growled when the teen whimpered and stomped from the room. He ran a hand though his hair roughly, his vision tinting red. An uncontrollable heat boiled within his gut. The urge to comfort and protect Jackson was overwhelming. But he knew there was nothing he could do until Deaton had him stable again.

Yet that knowledge didn't stop the feeling of acid corroding his insides. He could feel Jackson struggling to cling to life, could sense the frigid arms of death circling closer around the boy with every passing minute. This was not what was supposed to happen. Derek never gave false hope that he'd be the perfect alpha, never gave the impression that he held all the answers, but damn it he'd made a promise to those kids. They'd all been broken in one way or another and his bite had offered them something more; it gave them family, security, things they'd lacked. He'd never promised the world, but for this gang of teenagers he'd give his own life. He'd screwed up when he'd turned Jackson into the Kanima, but now he'd screwed up more. An alpha never let harm come to its betas.

He thought of his father and mother, alpha and mate, and the rigid pillars they always were. It didn't matter the time of day or circumstance, if one of the Hales were in trouble or hurting they were there. How many times did they have to travel out of town because an aunt or cousin called out for them? When he'd "run away" from home and broken his leg, they came to him without delay. He was not scolded until he'd healed properly, and by that time Derek admitted his wrong. The pair were formidable alphas. Hell even Laura hadn't been too bad after the shock of losing their family wore off some. They would be so disappointed in him.

A soft, cold hand touched his shoulder and Derek jerked around, unable to hold back the strangled snarl he'd been holding in. Lydia stood there, face blank and eyes level. He instantly felt guilty; who was he to feel anything compared to what she was experiencing. The girl had suffered uncertainty for weeks, and now seeing her mate on his death bed was a sucker punch to the gut. She needed him at that moment, but here he was wallowing in his own pool of self pity like a coward.

Derek straightened and composed himself, swallowing the heat. "Deaton's still working on him Lydia. Are you sure you don't want to go home? I promise to tell you if anything changes."

She looked at him for a second, her bottom lip quivering. Derek could smell the salt of her unshed tears. Before he could react Lydia wrapped her arms around his middle, burying her face in his chest. He was startled, but after a moment he returned the embrace, resting his head on top of her curly red hair. He closed his eyes and rubbed her back comfortingly, doing his best to draw out the negative emotions from her.

Lydia pulled back slightly, looking up at him with large green eyes. She laid a delicate hand on his cheek and took a deep breath. Derek found himself mesmerized by the intense gaze. Lydia had always been a complex person. She never let anyone in unless she wanted them to come in, and even then there were certain levels she'd allow. On the surface she displayed a snarky high classed teen that took the world in her hand and demanded more, but lurking just below was an insecure individual who worked for the world and only gained a mile. And it was at her weakest that these complex levels were revealed to the world.

She leaned up on her tiptoes and gently pressed a kiss to his cheek. His face felt hot where her lips touched him. A small smile ghosted over her face, and a soft twinkle danced in her eyes. "Thank you Derek." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He blinked at her. "What are you thanking me for?" He dropped his hands and they stepped away from one another.

She shrugged and gestured around the house. "You gave us this. The others may not say it, but Derek you've given us something that belongs to us. You gave us each other. A year ago I would never have talked to someone like Erica. I never even knew Boyd or Isaac existed. I put up with Stiles because I loved the attention, and Scott was always adorable. We're a band of misfits that were heading nowhere and you gave us a home. The only reason Jackson has held on this long is because we are here with him. You are here. So thank you."

He opened his mouth to reply, but the girl had already disappeared down the staircase again. Derek listened to her and Stiles make their way out of the Hale house and leave in his jeep. And then he was surrounded by silence apart from Jackson's ragged breathing and Deaton's almost silent mutterings.

* * *

Erin Hampton was the youngest of eight brothers and sisters. Growing up she was teased and excluded from family gatherings because of her unnaturally white hair and crystal blue eyes, so out of place among the sea of black hair and brown eyes. Whenever guests came to the manor she'd be confined to her room, a shame to her family. Her father never claimed her as his own, had never signed her birth certificate.

She had grown up lonely and wary of human affection. What did her life matter in the grand scheme of things? She was just another mistake her family was burdened with. But she held her tongue for years, refusing to give in to the want to yell and protest the neglect. No, when she enacted her revenge it would be swift and sweet. Now, years later she was a force to be reckoned with, a lethal hunter that showed no mercy. And her family was good and buried in their manor under a pile of charred rubble.

Smiling softly to herself, she pushed open the door of the apartment and floated over the threshold. The others called her the beauty queen, believing that to be her weapon of choice. But Erin would never admit her true talent, learned from the master of manipulation Gerard Argent himself. She bent others to her will without effort, could manipulate the situation to her liking. The mind was her forte, and when she played she played mercilessly.

She held everyone's dirty little secret in her head, and she used it to her full advantage. The others didn't know that Gabriel was Kate Argent's son; they only knew he was somehow Allison's cousin. They had no idea that Liam had a secret desire to find his mother who'd been bitten when he was a child. They'd never fathom that Luis came from a family sworn to protect the supernatural. Carlos and Jamie were bottom of the barrel dirt, only in it for the money.

They didn't know all that she knew. She knew that Allison was well aware of the world her family lived in; she knew who their contact was; she even knew what the sheriff was arguing about with the chief. She'd been in California longer than the others knew about. She'd followed the boy she was told to and killed his family after given the okay. The girl had been the best kill of her life. True, she didn't know all the betas, but she held all the cards.

Liam came around the corner, eyebrow raised. He was cute in his own way. His sandy blonde hair hung in waves, somewhat obscuring those pale green eyes. His lips were always slightly parted, as if inviting her in. she would lie to say he didn't arouse her darkest desires, but she knew that there was nothing there except physical attraction.

"You're home late." He said crossly, folding his arms over his chest. She grinned internally. It grated on her nerves to allow him to play the part of leader, but it was only until they smoked out the pack and then she could dispose of the waste of a human being.

Erin flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Sorry. I just thought it might interest you to see this." She held up the tiny cellular device daintily, a coy smirk playing on her face.

He reached for it but she quickly snatched it back, holding it snuggly over her chest. She shook her head. "Meeting in the prep room."

Liam glared for a minute before stomping off and calling the others. Erin relished making him squirm under her power; it was delicious. She waited until they were all inside the room before making her dramatic entrance. The others looked up at her expectantly…well all except Gabriel. That made her frown. Of all of them he was harder to bend to her will and more independent than she liked. He was too intuitive and she wasn't sure how much longer she could have him here. Another body wouldn't matter in the long run; all's fair in love and war.

She took her seat at the head of the table and held each of their gazes for a minute before beginning. "I think we may have found a clue as to who the betas are."

She smiled in triumph at the masks of shock. Jamie was the first to recover. "What are you talking about? How'd you do that?"

Again Erin felt her chest swelling with pride. She gingerly sat the sheriff's cell phone on the table, one finger tapping it lightly. "It appears the sheriff is in contact with Derek Hale."

"So you think the sheriff is a beta?" Liam inquired. She could see the tension in his jaw and bit down on her cheek to keep from smiling.

"I doubt it. But we can keep an eye on him just in case. I think the wolves are teenagers and more specifically those closest to Allison."

Gabriel's eye narrowed. "Teenagers? Why would you jump to that conclusion?" The grin slid off of her face. He was an annoying little bastard. Whenever he was around she had to word everything in such a manner that it appeared she only knew that little bit.

"His son texted him from Hale's phone for some reason. We've been watching Allison for a little while now and this kid is always around her. It's only plausible to investigate that group of friends and see who's a wolf."

The boy opened his mouth to say something, but Luis jumped in. "So how do we weed them out without hurting an innocent kid?" He'd always been uneasy about harming innocents, a major flaw in this business. War was war, and sometimes it was inevitable that humans got caught in the crosshairs. You get over it.

"Lacrosse is starting up again. From my understanding the boys are all on the team. If you guys join perhaps you can force them to use their abilities."

The boys nodded, but Gabriel was still glaring suspiciously. Time for the next plan of attack. "The sheriff was arguing with this cop from Sacramento about a murder that way. I'm not sure how, but I think it's connected to the case. I say we look into that. He didn't want him to talk to any of the kids around here, so it must be a local."

Carlos' jaw dropped. "Damn. This is kind of getting complicated don't you think?" Erin wanted to reach across the table and throttle him. He was idiot and she detested idiots. Those who couldn't formulate a decent thought were troublesome and worth less than a mongrel.

"We do what we have to without complaint. Now, that being said, let's prepare. I have a feeling things are about to heat up around here."

* * *

Stiles pulled into the long driveway, bringing the jeep to a complete stop. Lydia promptly leaned over and pecked him on the cheek before disappearing inside. He waited before pulling away, momentarily debating following her inside. He wanted to offer comfort to her, but at the same time he had business to attend to.

He sighed and pulled back onto the road. The half moon peeked shyly at him over the tree tops, the wind picking up speed. He shivered involuntarily. Images of Jackson's broken body kept pushing to the forefront of his mind, no matter how he tried to blink it away. Where was the naturally handsome playboy he knew? Who was sick enough to reduce him to that?

But worse was Erica's parting words to him. They replayed like a broken record in his head, and only grew in volume the louder he turned up the radio. _I don't think Gerard is dead. _It was impossible that the man could be alive after all this time. They'd searched for weeks after his disappearance and couldn't find a trace of him. There wasn't a chance in hell that monster was still walking among them.

There had to be some form of justice in the world. The man had kidnapped him, Erica, and Boyd for heaven's sake. He'd tortured them just to get to Scott and Derek. Hell, he'd used his own granddaughter as a pawn in his twisted little game. He'd controlled Jackson. He'd murdered Matt. He killed Victoria Argent without flinching. It was just one offense after the other; his list of victims was endless in Beacon Hills.

Stiles swallowed thickly. He didn't want to think about the man back and able to inflict that kind of damage on anyone. He didn't want to think about that cold, strangled voice laughing and mocking him while beating his body to a bloody pulp. He didn't want to look into those dead eyes and see his fate written there in his own blood. Gerard had promised revenge, but he'd died. There was no revenge from hell.

He saw his dad's cruiser parked outside the Argent's house and pulled in just behind it. He quickly killed the engine and stepped out of the jeep. He could feel the day's events wearing on him, and hoped this ended quickly so he could rest. His legs felt like jelly.

He was halfway up the drive when the front door swung open and Allison came hurtling at him. She jumped, throwing her arms around his neck, a wall of silky black hair slapping his face. He hugged her tightly, resting his chin on her shoulder and inhaling the sweet scents of flowers and apples. She was trembling slightly, but at least she wasn't crying.

They pulled apart and made their way inside the warmth of her home. His father and Chris were already seated at the kitchen table waiting for them. Stiles gulped, unsure what Allison had already said to the two heavily armed men. He was somewhat conscious of her hand in his and wondered just briefly if this felt at all weird to her. The two were friends, each dating someone else, so it was okay to hold hands for comfort right? Their fathers' pointed glares said otherwise, but they didn't break hands.

Once all four were seated around the table Chris began. "So as I take it Allison, you disobeyed me and told Stiles about the hunters that are taking up residence in our town." He glared at his daughter who returned the heated stare. Chris sighed heavily and pressed on. "Well, I didn't tell you, but one of those hunters s your cousin Gabriel."

Stiles felt her tense beside him and looked at her. Allison's face had paled considerably. "But why? He's a kid! Why would they send a child to take on a pack of wolves?" her voice jumped an octave.

Chris shrugged. "I'm not sure what's going on, but someone powerful is pulling the strings. I've talked to some hunters who live nearby, but they haven't heard of anything. Whoever these people are they're rogue." He turned to Stiles pointedly. "They won't adhere to a Code like we do if that's the case. If they have any suspicion that you're involved then you're fair game."

John cleared his throat, looking between the three of them. "These hunters are after the kids and Derek. Any idea why?"

Stiles shifted uneasily in his chair. His father was still upset about a few things that had gone down right under his nose. Including the bits where the Argents were directly involved. Chris held his ground. "The best I can gather is that Gabriel wants revenge for his mother's death. But that doesn't explain how he knew about Gerard. That was need to know only; as far as anyone else is concerned he died of natural causes."

John ran a hand down his face, but leaned back in his chair, gesturing for them to continue the debriefing. Chris returned his attention to his daughter who'd remained silent. "Allison, Stiles, anything you have to say?"

Allison squeezed his hands and stared down at the table. Stiles swallowed and nodded. "Jackson managed to make it to us. But it was clear he'd been tortured and held against his will. We believe he was given to us…I think it was on purpose."

The sheriff's head jerked up at the mention of Jackson's name but remained silent. Stiles watched his reaction curiously, but was snapped out of it by Chris. "What do you mean?"

"His wrists had ligature marks and he was bruised and bloody. His body wasn't even healing properly. We think he was taken while in Sacramento." Stiles watched the two males and Allison exchange worried glances before turning away. He wanted to ask what that was about, but thought better of it. He was mentally piecing together the puzzle in his head, but some pieces just weren't fitting. They still didn't know what the hunters wanted.

After a brief silence Chris stood and began to pace the floor. "We need to tell Derek about the threat. Allison I need you to get to Gabriel somehow. For some reason he trusts you, but sees me as a traitor. John, I know this might be a stretch, but do you think you could look into my father's disappearance closer? You can collaborate with Deaton on the matter. Stiles, I guess you just do what you do best and investigate."

The sheriff shook his head vehemently. "I'm not really sure if it was worth living in this town after Lilliana died. I'll see what I can do Argent, but no promises. How is Jackson? He's not in a hospital right?"

Allison spoke up for the first time. "No, Deaton's tending to him at the Hale house. He's too unstable to be around humans."

The sheriff nodded, standing and moving towards the door. He paused and looked back at Stiles. "Be careful coming home."

* * *

**Author's notes: A faster update to satisfy your hunger my adoring fans. Spoiler alert: next chapter is told primarily from Danny's and Lydia's point of view. Wonder how that will play out? Review please and thank you! :)**


	16. Twice Bitten

Danny couldn't figure out why he was sitting in the principal's office turned interrogation room. Just five minutes ago he'd been sitting next to Stiles in Economics and trying in vain to drown out his incessant chatter and ask him the one question that had been bothering him for weeks now, _where was Jackson? _At first he let the matter drop, mostly because he knew that Jackson probably just wanted to be alone, but it was nearing mid-September and there hadn't been so much as a phone call. Even then he'd been reluctant to worry. It wasn't until he noticed Lydia and the others dodging questions about him from other students. And when he'd inquired they'd began to avoid him at all costs. That's when he knew something had gone terribly wrong.

His fears were confirmed earlier in the week when the fill in principal announced that select students would be pulled aside for questioning concerning the boy. For two days the halls were filled with antsy murmurings and speculation; for two nights Danny tossed and turned beneath his smooth comforters, worry hollowing him out. And it was just his luck to be pulled in first.

He didn't know what all he could say about Jackson that wasn't already known. To be honest he wasn't sure why an out of county cop was even covering the case at all. It just didn't fit right in his stomach. So he sat there twiddling his thumb, chewing his lip, bouncing his leg, and shaking. His throat had gone bone dry, and no matter how many cups of stale water he forced down the aridity increased.

The door squeaked open and Danny jerked up, back erect. He sat tall and watched the cop come in. The law enforcement always made him uneasy; his rap sheet wasn't too long, but old scars tend to hurt sometimes. The man sat on the edge of the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. He made sure to remove his blazer, leaving him in a simple polo that stretched over his muscles. He wore dark shades that hid his eyes, and occasionally cracked his knuckles. Danny bit back a smirk. He knew the game when it came to interrogation, and this cop was not a player. He made quick note of the rapid but silent foot tapping and excited twitch of the man's eyebrows.

After sizing one another up the chief sat down in the grand office chair, leaning back and pulling a small tape recorder from his pocket. He set it as close as he could without practically putting it in Danny's lap, before pressing the little green button. Danny watched silently as the tape started rolling, and his stomach suddenly disappeared.

"Good afternoon Mr. Mahealani. Now I'm sure you are wondering why I've brought you here today." The man spoke slowly, but Danny caught the poorly hidden edge of anticipation. For what, he was not sure. He waited for the man to continue, and after a moment he did.

"To sum it up, Mr. Whitmore is a suspect in a case in Sacramento. We would just like to ask you a few questions, because as the teachers here have stated, you are his best friend."

Danny shrugged, not wanting to say anything until he was asked a specific question. Meanwhile his mind was running races. Jackson was a suspect in what exactly? What could he have done? If he was involved in something it certainly explained why he was gone, but that didn't explain why everyone was acting weird around him. It was as if they knew something…

"Mr. Mahealani!" the man barked, jerking Danny from his daydream.

He straightened and cleared his throat. "I-I'm sorry, can you repeat that?"

The man narrowed his eyes but relented. "I asked how long have you known Jackson Whitmore?"

Danny blinked at the man, but didn't answer. Stiles and Scott had been friends since they were little kids; grew up at the other's house practically. When speaking of one you had to include the other simply because they were joined at the hip. He and Jackson did not have that long childhood friendship. It still confounded him at times that the two of them, polar opposites in manner and social scenes, had become best friends.

"We knew each other since we were in elementary, but we didn't become good friends until seventh grade."

The man leaned forward, clasping his hands together. "And how exactly did you become such great friends?"

Danny stared down at the hands in his lap. A few select people knew how they became friends, but most just assumed it had always been that way. But Danny would never forget that day.

_He had known Jackson Whitmore to be an utter asshole. He was certainly richer than anyone in the school, possibly the town, and he wore the privilege on his sleeves. There wasn't a time of the day the boy wouldn't be seen strutting down the hallway. Most feared him because he made good on his promises the majority of the time, but Danny just felt repulsed and sorry for him._

_It wasn't a secret that the boy was adopted, and maybe people would feel sorry for him if he wasn't a prick. But he was smart, charismatic, and had a damn good body. He knew he looked good and wasn't afraid nor sorry to flaunt it. Danny had never spoken to him, but he was good at reading people…and hacking any electronic device he could get his hands on. He knew that Jackson was pining for Lydia Martin and that the kid was searching extensively for his parents. So yeah, his life wasn't picture perfect, but that didn't excuse his rudeness. _

_Danny sighed and walked away, closing his locker with a soft bang. He kept his head down, slinging his back pack over his shoulder. He didn't know why he cared about Jackson Whitmore, but he felt as if someone genuinely should. He didn't feel romantically for him, which many would doubt considering his sexual preferences. But it was the truth. _

_He was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he wasn't paying attention to where he was going and slammed into a wall of solid muscle. He grunted and stepped back, rubbing his forehead grumpily. The wall of muscle turned to him and Danny's stomach dropped. _

_The town of Beacon Hills was not strictly conservative, but they weren't liberal either. They were the type of people who preached chastity, the kind of community where neighbors were practically family in the sense that they knew all of the dirty little secrets. Danny's sexual preference were common knowledge, and while no one openly gave him a hard time, he could smell the disapproval seeping from their pores like thick ooze. But that did not mean that there weren't those determined to break him. Not by a long shot. _

_Lee Ramos sneered at him, his cronies snickering. Danny gulped at the towering eighth grader. He was bulky, more than a kid his age should be. Yeah, he took steroids, but there was next to nothing the adults could do about it because they'd never caught him with anything. But the boy's drug habit was the last thing on his mind as Lee stepped towards him. _

"_Look boys, it's the little fag." His posy laughed and formed a loose semi circle around him. Danny stumbled back, trying to keep his balance. _

_He wasn't afraid of people, could hold his own ground, but Lee was a different story. He was an animal who played dirty and bullied his way to the top. Danny wouldn't stand a ghost of a chance in a fight, fair or not. Lee was always antagonizing him, but nothing he'd ever done had been physical before, and Danny didn't want this situation to turn out that way._

"_What's the matter fag? Thinking about my junk or the next guy you're going to screw?" Lee reached out and grabbed his arm roughly. "Didn't you hear me talking Mahealani? When I talk you answer." He shoved him and Danny stumbled into one of his friends. _

"_Hey now, is all that necessary?" said a smooth, velvet but rough voice. Danny looked around bewildered, jaw dropping slightly at the sight of Jackson Whitmore leaning casually against the lockers a few yards away. He was frowning disapprovingly; his eyebrows scrunched together, lips and jaw tense. Danny could see the energy boiling underneath the skin, begging for release. _

_Lee glared at him. "This isn't your business Whitmore." he snapped. To emphasize his words he grabbed Danny's shoulder and squeezed until he let out a low hiss of pain. Jackson's eyes darkened and he took a step towards them. _

"_Now I'm not asking Ramos. Back off." His voice had dropped considerably, and Danny took noticed the way his fists clenched and his muscles flexed. While he was grateful Jackson was sticking up for him, he didn't understand why. Jackson had never bullied him, but he'd never spoken to him either. _

"_Why don't you make me?" Lee sneered. He let go of Danny's shoulder and stepped into the smaller teen's face. His posy tightened the little circle, ready to pounce should their leader start to lose. Danny gulped and moved quickly to Jackson's side; should the others jump in he'd help anyway he could. _

_Lee cut his eyes to him and winked, his fists balled tightly at his sides. He shivered involuntarily under the gaze. His eyes were cold, but even more frightening was the terrible promise lurking in the icy depths. "Lucky your boyfriend is here." And just like that he turned and sauntered off, his cronies quickly following. _

_They waited until they heard only the resonating tick of the clock and their own breathing. After five minutes of absolute silence Jackson turned to him and Danny took a hesitant step back. The intensity in the blue eyes was unsettling, and it didn't help that the gorgeous guy was in his personal space, practically pressed against him. _

"_You okay Danny?" his voice was soft, but rippling with suppressed energy. He poked at his shoulder gently, jerking back when he winced. _

_Danny shrugged. "Lee's just a bully; not a big deal really. Why did you step in like that?" he didn't want to sound ungrateful, but it wasn't something people really did, especially for him. Something crossed in Jackson's face, but he said nothing and turned away. _

"_He shouldn't mess with you. Someone just had to say it." _

Every day since then they'd been inseparable and they'd always had the other's back. To this day he still wondered at Jackson's motivations, but after years of devoted friendship he'd never thought to question it. But these were things he couldn't tell this cop who was obviously fishing for dirt on his best friend.

"We just got to talking one day and clicked I guess. Things like that happen all the time."

The cop frowned, seemingly unimpressed with his answer, but the man pressed on. "In the years that you've known him has he had any violent tendencies, picked on anyone?"

Danny leaned back in his chair. "He's never been violent unless you count him dominating on the lacrosse field. And as for bullying people, he and Scott McCall and his friend Stiles has had it out for one another since elementary. They'd only recently became friends." He grumbled out the last part, namely because in the long run his friendship had been shoved aside to accommodate the others, but he'd never complain.

"Do you know the circumstances surrounding that new development?" The man had removed his sunglasses and was scrutinizing him.

He shrugged and yawned. "All I know is, Scott joined lacrosse and suddenly the two had nice words for each other."

"McCall is on the lacrosse team as well huh? So I assume he was present the night of the state championship?"

Danny sat up straighter, suddenly feeling heated. The sheriff had changed the direction of the questions far too quickly for his liking, as if he had led him to them. If that were the case he was now treading dangerous water, and anything he said or didn't say could very well hurt his friends. "Yes, he was."

A triumphant gleam sparkled in the man's eyes. "And do tell, do you remember the events of that night? Did Mr. Whitmore seem a little…strange before, during, or after?"

Of course he remembered that night; who didn't? They'd just won the championship for the second year in a row and were high with euphoria and the envy of their opponents. And then the field was pitch black, so dark in fact Danny could feel the world compressing in on him. But nothing would have prepared him or anyone when the lights clicked on and there lay Jackson, torso covered in blood.

Just like that he lost all sense of humanity and purpose. All he could do was stare in disbelief at the ashen, dead face of best friend. All he could do was listen to Lydia's terrified shrieks and Scott's mom frantic yelling and attempts to save the boy. Every time her skinny arms pushed on his chest Danny felt his breath leaving him. And Jackson didn't respond; didn't twitch; didn't so much as gasp as he lay there. Coach Finstock came to him and half dragged, half carried him to the locker room; the team followed in a daze, though he did recall Isaac, Stiles, and Scott were missing.

During those hours of waiting for any confirmation on his best friend's fate Danny thought back to minutes before the game. He'd been nervous certainly, but confident that there was nothing to stop them from taking home the gold. But something was wrong and he could feel it like someone was calling out to him. He'd looked at Jackson and could feel that his heart was not there, that he was deeply troubled and worried. He'd been acting strange for weeks, but Danny ignored that because they were brothers and that's generally what brothers do. When he asked Jackson just fixed him with that same intense gaze that had unnerved him from the very beginning. The words echoed in his skull that night, adding to the weight if his fear that Jackson knew _something_ was going to happen on the field.

"_Stay in the goal tonight Danny. Do not come out. And if you see me coming towards you, run the other way, as fast as you can." _

Something in his gut told him that that was exactly what the man was searching for. What was more; he had a feeling that the simple statement would drag everyone close to Jackson, i.e. Lydia, Scott, Stiles, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac down. He couldn't, wouldn't do it. "I'm sure you read the articles about it if you're willing to ask. I don't know any more than what happened. We were just there, and next thing I know he's dying."

The man's eyes narrowed and he stood up to his full height, towering over him. Danny swallowed. "Mr. Mahealani, are you curious as to why your friend is in trouble?" He walked around the desk, a small manila folder tucked firmly in his hands. Danny met the man's gaze and nodded slowly. The chief sat it gingerly in his lap and leaned back, waiting. He sighed and carefully opened the folder.

The first picture had him reeling. First he saw gorgeous blue eyes that demanded attention, framed by thick, long black lashes. Then he saw the lustrous blond hair that fanned out around her lovely head in rivulets. Her lips were opened slightly, pink and plush. And the absolute beauty of it was destroyed, by the pool of dark, liquid matted in the curls and dripping from the corner of those delicious lips and spreading underneath her. Her chest was ripped open, as if a calculated hand carved into the supple flesh of her bosom, exposing her broken ribs and butchered organs. Her body lay on the linoleum floor, broken and decrepit like a lost rag doll.

The second picture was of an equally handsome man with chestnut brown hair and kind brown eyes. He lay half in, half out of his bathroom. The room would have been pale white with peach accents, the window open letting in the fresh air from the bay in the early morning. But instead it ventilated the pungent odor of death and decay. Instead the porcelain surfaces were bathed in shiny crimson that ran like streams and rivers. The man was staring blankly into the full length mirror, his throat gapping open and half of his skull mashed in.

The last picture was perhaps the most revolting and unsettling. There she was, gorgeous brown hair that hung softly to her waist; a childlike face with high cheekbones and perfect dimples; long lashes that kissed her cheeks and a cute button nose; and small, perfect lips tilted up in peace. She lay there in the sea of frilly pinks and stuffed animals, a stuffed panda clutched tightly in her arms. The very essence of beauty, purity, and quiet youth, of life. And it was marred by the thievery of the jagged hole through her forehead. But something was wrong with it. There was no blood apart from what was on her anywhere. That meant she'd been killed somewhere else and posed in death. It was sick.

And then it made sense to him as he stared at the photo of the young girl. She was spitting image of her brother, though the darker hair suited her far better. Danny blinked when a tear splashed onto the photograph. He hadn't realized he'd been crying. He wiped them away and closed the folder, the images forever burned into his memories. How many nights would he wake to her ghostly smile and quiet murmurings?

A hand rested on his shoulder but his eyes would not leave his lap. Jackson didn't do this, he thought finally. A monster, a sick deprived monster did this. He finally steeled himself and stood swiftly to his feet. The chief dropped his hand and stared at him for anything. He only gave that righteous anger. "I am done here."

He started towards the door and the older man grabbed his arm and pulled so tightly he felt his shoulder groan in protest. "We aren't done until I find this killer."

Danny pulled his arm free, eyes burning. "Well you're looking in the wrong place. Jackson Whitmore didn't do this, and I have nothing further to say." He walked out without a backwards glance.

* * *

Guilt had a way of eating away at people in the worst ways. It gradually poked and prodded at your conscious until your soul was riddled with holes. It didn't matter the intentions, good or bad. No matter the decision there was always someone paying the price. Derek had paid the price several times over and it haunted him.

And Lydia was guilty. She could feel his despair as he tore his way after her across the emptying parking lot. She could still smell the lingering odor of salty tears and vomit. She could hear the broken pattering of his heart. And she knew exactly why he felt that way. But she kept her head high and walked towards her small car, determined to not give in to the urge to protect him.

They had been avoiding Danny almost religiously on Derek's orders. He felt that whoever had kidnapped Jackson knew about the pack, and didn't want to pull Danny into the line of fire. They'd protested, but there was little they could do when given a direct order. Iris had even thrown in her opinion, though Derek barely spared her a glance. Lydia had been livid. He was acting without thinking, and that was putting them in more danger. Did he not consider that Danny may already be in danger? Would it not be better to bring him into the fold so that he'd be better protected? She'd said as much and was met with a furious growl that had her baring her neck in submission.

It didn't help that as they slipped into September the boy became desperate to find his best friend. He asked, pled for answers that she couldn't give no matter how much she wanted to. The others ran the other way and didn't understand why it was so hard for her to do the same; hell she didn't even understand. All she knew was he was important to her wolf, not in the same sense as Jackson certainly, but important. It physically hurt her to feel his pain or dark emotions.

The only one of them that was even able to disobey Derek was Stiles. Iris was much to wary of Derek to disobey. He was the only human and could therefore do whatever he wanted. He had pestered Derek endlessly for days, and then started doing subtle things like inviting Danny over to hang out at his place and such. It was funny from the sidelines, but sad to see.

Lydia stopped with her hand resting on her car doorknob, unable to runaway this time. Stiles told her that Danny had been pulled in for questioning earlier that day, and she knew it was wrong to leave him at that time. Her wolf was fighting her, wanting to obey its alpha, but she would break just once. She spun on her heels. Danny stopped in his tracks, breathing deeply and staring at her uncertainly. The story was there in his large brown eyes. He was scared and hurting…and part of it was their fault. She swallowed thickly and lifted her hand to wave. He merely stared at her for a minute before coming over and wrapping her in a tight embrace.

It startled her to say the least. In all the years she had known him they'd never touched one another, spare a pat on the shoulder here and there. Even then she had initiated contact, because as she saw it she was a fabulous prize that no one could touch without permission. It felt strange but right at the same time. Her smaller body seemed to fit just right against his tall, lean frame. With Jackson it was different, there was no ending or beginning to them, just a whole. This was a different connection, one associated with a brother or just someone you can't imagine your life without. Was this it then? Had Danny become such a part of her?

She found herself returning the hug, burying her face in his chest and inhaling the sweet scent. Everyone had a particular flavor to them, and Danny's scent was one of her favorites. He just carried a natural alluring mix of things on his skin that drove her crazy. Jackson's was by far the best in her opinion, but Danny's was a close second. But his scent wasn't complete, not without that of the pack. And that was it; he was supposed to smell like pack. She couldn't' explain why, but he was supposed to.

They pulled apart after a minute or two and Danny stared down at her. His eyes were still rimmed red and his body was quivering ever so slightly. Lydia's breath hitched. She couldn't take it anymore. "Danny…I am so sorry." The words tumbled out before she knew what to say.

He nodded slowly. "Why have you been avoiding me?" he whispered. His fists clenched at his sides as he spoke. Lydia wanted to reach out and comfort him, but not yet, there was business to discuss.

"…Danny you have to understand that there are things about this town, secrets that are dangerous for everyone to know. People end up dead if they know things. I just…" her voice trailed off. He was staring at her as if he didn't know who she was.

"If it has to do with my best friend I think I ought to know. You guys know something and I'm tired of sitting in the dark. You don't think I've noticed that something's wrong in this town? I don't care about that. I only care about Jackson." He deadpanned.

Lydia hung her head. "Those secrets have everything to do with him. We can't tell you because-"

He cut her off. "Because what? You're trying to protect me? Well you did a bang up job considering I just had a cop hassling me about Jackson. You know he's being accused of murdering his family? Is that why you're hiding?" he spat coldly.

Lydia felt as if he'd struck her. He'd never spoken so icily to anyone; everyone loved Danny. The color drained from her face. He was close to tears again, she could tell. His heart sped up, his body practically screaming in anticipation for her answer.

She licked her lips nervously and studied the ground. Her hands shook at her side, her lungs empty and tight. She had found it increasingly hard to remain faithful to both her pack mates and human friends in the past weeks. Her mother had been adamant about her visiting Ms. Morel religiously, but naturally she'd skipped every session. Her father distanced himself from her in every aspect of her life, eating dinner in his room and leaving when they were alone. It hurt that even now her teetering on the edge of humanity had ruptured what little solidity her life had.

She hadn't realized she'd been crying until the first large drop of salty liquid splashed down her cheeks. It was the first tear she'd cast in days (not counting her nightly sleepovers with Stiles) and it was unsettling. She was supposed to hold it all together, be the rock for her friends. Never mind that breaking down would mean surrendering her sanity. But as the flow of betraying tears continued to roll freely she found it harder to rein it in. Her shoulders shook violently, and a small pitiful whimper slipped through her lips.

And then warmth engulfed her and she felt at ease with the shuddering world. She sniffled and looked up at Danny. His face was broken; his eyes conflicted between guilt and satisfaction. It was looking into those innocent brown eyes that she broke the code just once. Derek would kill her later, but it was a necessity to do this. She steeled herself and gripped Danny's hand tightly.

"If you trust me, I can explain everything."

* * *

He remembered when the Hale house had burned all those years ago. He'd been around ten or eleven at the time, and on his way home from laser tag. His friends chatted excitedly in the seat next to him, but he didn't indulge or join their playful banter. Instead he sat quietly squished against the car door, looking out the frosty window. At first the night was beautiful, the stars dancing with each other; and then a dark column reached to the heaven's, blackening the night. Sirens wailed angrily as the red trucks tore through the streets. Danny's mother pulled over immediately, jumping out of the car and warning them to stay put. Naturally, he'd followed her, and it was then he saw the orange and red flames licking the walls of the house, the black blanket of smoke curling from the mouth of the house. Terrified screams ricocheted off of the forest trees, but that was nothing in comparison to the broken cries of two soot covered individuals standing yards from him.

But staring at the house now, one would never guess the tragedy that had befallen the inhabitants only seven years previously. There was a new solid roof and sturdy walls; a wraparound porch with a swing, hammock, and assortment of Mitch match chairs. And while all of that was fine with him and everything, he didn't quite understand why Lydia had brought him there.

He turned to her fully in his seat to say as much, when she held a hand up to him. Her face was extremely tight, eyes slightly wide and crazy, lips drawn into a thin line. "Remember I said to trust me. You do not speak until I say so okay? And don't get too close." She warned darkly.

She hopped out before he could respond and danced towards the building. Danny sat rigid in his seat, watching cautiously. Lydia had never struck him as a cult type of girl (unless she was the leader), but at this point nothing would surprise him. He hadn't been lying when he'd said he'd noticed something just wasn't quite right. He'd never fully bought Jackson's feeble tale of his stab wound somehow missing vital organs. He'd been there; he knew what he saw.

Danny leaned forward, watching interestedly when the front door was flung open and out stepped….Miguel? What was Stiles' cousin doing in Beacon Hills and how did Lydia know him? But despite that he let his eyes rake up the body, his heart picking up speed. His muscular legs were snug in his faded blue jeans, his muscles prominent in the blue gray t-shirt he wore. His chest seemed to ripple, triceps and biceps flexing magnificently when he gestured angrily towards Danny in the car. He was scowling, but that suited him well. His hazel eyes sparked with intelligence, his lips tilted down at the corners.

Danny ducked his head in shame and tried to control himself. This was not the time to become a hormonal teenager. He looked back up again and screamed in panic. Lydia was leaning against the car, frowning at him impatiently. He blushed, quickly unbuckling his seat belt and clumsily climbing out of the car.

As they neared the house he kept his eyes firmly trained on the ground, not wanting to _really _embarrass himself. Lydia thrust her arm out when they reached the stairs and he looked up startled. Miguel was glaring down at Lydia as if she'd committed murder and once again his thoughts slid towards cult activity. Was he a sacrifice of some sort? He groaned internally; sitting next to Stiles was having it's affect on him.

"Lydia…" Miguel growled. Danny swallowed thickly; that had sounded like an authentic growl.

The girl squared her shoulders and stuck out her chin. "Derek he has a right to know. Now either you let me do this my way or you do it."

The two sized each other up, but Danny was reeling. His name was Derek? As in Derek Hale? As in exonerated murderer Derek Hale? He said nothing, for fear of inciting an all out verbal fight between the two.

Finally after a tense silence Mi- _Derek _huffed and shrugged his shoulders. "Do you really want to drag him into this?" Again his mind jumped to cult. He was ready to bolt by this point. Whatever was going on could remain a secret for all he cared.

Lydia reached out and latched onto his arm. "He's always been a part of this. We might as well make it official." she challenged.

And with that she dragged him up the porch steps and into the house. Derek stepped in behind them and closed the door sharply. For a brief second Danny could hear excited chatter and the sound of a television. They rounded the corner to a living room possibly twice the size of his own. Boyd was sitting on a worn black leather couch, nose buried in a book; Erica was lying across, her head in his lap; Allison sat on the floor in front of her, flipping aimlessly through the channels; Isaac sat pressed to her left side, his arms wrapped tightly around his girlfriend Iris; Scott was on Allison's right side, playing absently with her hair, arms lung over Stiles' shoulders; the boy in question was scribbling furiously, half bent over a government book and half sitting in Scott's lap. It was a bizarre sight, but Danny couldn't help but see how well they fit together.

And then the domestic scene was broken. Everyone turned to stare openly at him. It only took him one quick look at all of their faces to reach his conclusion. "Jackson is here isn't he?" They didn't speak but the guilt in their eyes was enough said.

Lydia again tightened her hold on his arm and nodded towards a polished staircase. Together they ascended, the sounds of several pairs of feet telling him the others were trailing behind. They reached the top of the stairs and turned to a small door at the end of the hallway. Lydia stopped halfway down the hall, visibly shaking. He wanted to say something to comfort her, but several hands touched her shoulder and he could practically see the pain slide from her.

She pushed the door open and gestured inside, her face a smooth mask. Danny took a deep breath and stepped into the near empty room. Immediately he wanted to run out, to die. He walked over as if on auto pilot and dropped to his knees beside the bed. He stared at the smooth, almost porcelain like plains of the flawless face, the shaggy blonde hair and ran a hand through it. Jackson couldn't be….

"He's not dead." Derek quipped. "He's in a trauma induced coma, but we're not sure when he'll wake up."

Danny gnashed his teeth and wheeled about, his anger exploding out of him like an angry torrent. "What the hell is going on?! I'm done with the cryptic messages. Just fucking tells me already!"

No one spoke for several seconds and he ran a hand through his hair again. It wasn't like him to lose control like that, but seriously things were out of control. He didn't understand and he felt like he should. And they were all staring at him with mixed faces of guilt, pity, and fear. He turned from them before he could snap again.

"It's pretty complicated to tell you the truth." Stiles finally said. "But you need to hear it all from the beginning I guess."

Danny looked over his shoulder. Derek and Stiles were staring at each other, having an unspoken conversation. But there was more in their expressions, as if they longed to be close, to touch. That settled in Danny's mind and he shook his head, a grin working its way onto his face. He should have figured something was amiss there as well.

He waited until they finished and Derek faced him unwillingly. "Okay Danny. It all started I guess seven years ago…"

Werewolves. He was standing in a house full of half human half wolves. That was never something he'd considered likely to happen in his lifetime. And yet there he was, looking at them all as if it were some kind of sick joke. He waited for the minute a camera crew would pop out and explain to him that it was all an elaborate prank to humiliate him.

But no, apparently there was such a thing as silver bullets and full moons. Apparently there was such a thing as hunters, who devoted their lives to hunting all supernatural creatures to extinction. That was how Derek's family was murdered and how all of the teens were constantly ending up in trouble. They were all a beacon for trouble it appeared.

Danny sat pensively for what felt like hours, contemplating all that he had learned. He thought about Jackson and the fact that months ago he had been that horrific killer that had almost made him a victim. He now understood the fear in Jackson's eyes that night of the championship game; he now understood his warning. He had known something was going to happen that night, but he hadn't been aware he'd gut himself.

And he couldn't help but feel sympathy rather than anger for Allison. Her life had been pure hell from the minute she'd moved to the town. She'd been pulled into a battle that was never hers, and worse than that forced to choose sides. No matter what she tried to do someone always ended up hurt, and she was left with crushing grief and guilt. It wasn't fair that her own family used her for their own purposes, nor that they punished her for trying to be her own person.

But they'd all kept this from him. He wasn't sure whether or not to feel furious about that. Certainly he understood it was for his own protection that he stayed safely out of the loop, but he still felt as if he could have been some help had he known. He wasn't shy to tell them all of this either.

Derek sat back and let him rant, every now and again nodding or blinking, but otherwise no one said anything. And then he'd said something that had him startled into speechlessness.

"I guess now that you know I have to ask. Do you want the Bite?" he leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. The others were watching him like hawks, Iris and Stiles close by to offer comfort. And that left him to think. He'd heard each of their stories; he knew the risks that came with being a wolf. But he saw what they all had, and saw what he could have. Truth is he felt that he needed to do it. But could he explain that to them?

"If I do you'll be my alpha? And I'll be able to help Jackson heal?"

Derek shrugged, a smug grin working on his face. "Theoretically. But you don't have to be a wolf to be pack. Stiles and Iris are humans." Danny nodded, still taken aback at the offhand way Derek's whole demeanor changed when it came to Stiles. And he took a minute to look at them all again, though he knew from the first telling of their epic tale exactly what he wanted.

"I want the Bite."

* * *

**Author's Notes: Sooooooo super sorry for the long wait. Honestly this chapter just took forever to write! I just couldn't stop once I got started honestly. I liked writing from Danny's POV because there is so much about him we don't know, so it gives us a lot of creative leeway. But I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter! **** Review and let me know what you think. :)**


	17. i don't want to miss a thing

**Author's notes: I apologize for the long update, but a lot has happened for me. First I had surgery, and then I was selected as Corps commander for JROTC. So you see a lot as happened. Forgive me and I hope you all enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

The leaves fell in soft twirls to the forest floor. A crisp autumn wind swept across the covered ground, rustling over the near naked tree tops and waking the disgruntled animals. The sun beamed down warmly on their back, its many fingers kissing the backs of their necks. It was a peaceful, tranquil scene nestled in the back roads of town.

Stiles sat, leaning against one of the large boulders and watching the puppies play. It was custom to gather near Derek's house or the small creek after school, sometimes for training and sometimes to just relax. This was one of those days. After Danny, they'd all been called in for questioning and from what Stiles could gather thee investigator was getting frustrated with them. He had nothing to hold against Jackson and they weren't giving him up. Lydia had gone that day, and she somehow managed to broadcast the interview over the school. Everyone heard her tear apart the chief piece by piece, her words sharp and unforgiving. If anyone wondered how cruel the girl could be, they got their answer. To celebrate, they'd visited their favorite hangout.

Allison and Scott were splashing around in the creek, though the chill in the air couldn't have been comfortable. Erica and Boyd had gone for a "walk" sometime ago and he really didn't want to know about _that_. Iris and Isaac were snuggled against one another, basking in the soft glow of the sun. Danny and Lydia were wrestling one another, both of them a blur of red and brown hair. It was safe, effortless; it was for once a peaceful thing.

He leaned back further against the rock, a smile playing on his lips. This was what a real family should look like, he thought. When was the last time he'd seen his mother's side of the family? The funeral, maybe a few hours after. That was perfectly fine with him anyways; most of them never counted him as part of the family because they didn't like his father. But here were smiles and laughs, the first real ones since Jackson's return almost a month before. Here were friends enjoying being together for once. All it was missing was Jackson and Derek.

Stiles frowned slightly at the thought of the wolf. He'd been surly and distant with the pack lately. Trainings were long and brutal, the meetings sharp and to the point without the easy banter they were accustomed to. His temper had grown worse as well. The pack was basically walking on eggshells around him, anything seemingly a trigger. He didn't laugh or even smile anymore either. It was as if the life was being sucked from him. He was stressed about the hunters and about Jackson's recovery.

That didn't excuse his behavior though in Stiles' opinion. They were all on edge at this point, but they didn't fall apart at the seams. His behavior reminded Stiles of the man he'd met a year ago; a sour, brooding man that hated him. He didn't like it and neither did the pack. At this point they were close to mutinous. They didn't want an angry tyrant as their leader; they wanted the Derek they'd fought side by side with.

A shadow obscured his vision and he looked up warily, using his arm as a shade. Scott was beaming down at him, his curly hair dripping with water, his dimple popping out. It was like he and Isaac did it on purpose or something; they both resembled puppies. Scott flopped down next to him, shaking his hair out and dousing him in cold water.

"Ugh! Dude seriously? I just got this shirt!" Stiles protested, punching him in the arm. It was the truth. The girls- Lydia- had basically manhandled him to the mall, determined to end his geeky fashion. To be honest he didn't mind, but he couldn't help but notice how all of the jeans hung low on his hips and shirts stretched over his muscles.

Scott laughed and returned the gesture, though much more gently. "Dude the girls have got you whipped." He was rewarded with a small smack to the back of the head and mock- scowl.

"I know you aren't talking Mr. I can't make coherent thoughts about anything unless it's Allison related."

"Hey!" he cried indignantly, jabbing out his arm for another swing. Stiles rolled out of the way, a smirk firmly in place.

Lydia and Danny paused in their little wrestling match. It was clear that the smaller female was the superior fighter, though that could be contributed to his youth. She brushed a loose strand of hair back into her ponytail and clambered off Danny, pulling him to his feet. "Oh don't act surprised. Honestly it's a wonder you can get dress properly if she's not around."

Danny nodded in agreement. Scott screwed up his eyebrows and pouted. "Over exaggerate much?"

Isaac and Iris wandered over. "Nope, everything they say is one hundred percent fact. Seriously dude you are a wreck." Iris giggled behind her hand, linking her fingers with Isaac's.

Scott's cheeks flushed and he mumbled something under his breath. Danny reached over and cuffed the back of his head. "No naughty language. Bad Scott, bad." They all burst into raucous laughter, including Scott. For all the complaining the other teenagers had started picking up Stiles' habit of using dog jokes. It was amusing to see the confused expression before it dawned on them what they had just said.

They'd quieted down some, Scott and Lydia holding a verbal war, the others amused spectators, when Erica and Boyd joined them. Boyd's face was as placid as ever, his walk slow and deliberate. Erica on the other hand was practically combusting. Her hands were fisting uncontrollably at her sides; her arms were rigid, muscles flexing; her hair seemed to be alive as it whipped and bounced around her face; her teeth were gnashed together; her eyes were alight with fresh fury. They all stood, suddenly on alert.

Boyd spoke first. "Umm….Derek isn't too happy at the moment…" Erica cut him off abruptly.

"Your royal grumpiness has his alpha panties in a wad. He just yelled at us, demanding you guys get over to the house now."

Lydia raised her perfectly manicured eyebrows and Stiles cringed. If there was one thing they all learned, it was that Lydia did not take kindly to demands. She'd do what you asked, but a demand or order was unacceptable; she was too much of a free willed person. It was no wonder she and Derek butted heads almost as much as Stiles did. He often wondered if she would take Derek's place as alpha one day.

The group said nothing, but the friendly atmosphere seemed to disappear. It was suddenly too hot and dry; suddenly the woods seemed dull and dark. Allison and Iris climbed nimbly on their boyfriends' backs and they trudged through the trees to the hale house. Stiles could practically cut the tension with a knife it was so thick. The wolves didn't say anything, but it was all on their faces. Allison's lips were drawn into a tight, thin line; Scott's irises were bleeding gold; Danny and Isaac wore identical masks of annoyance; Iris was frowning so deeply he was sure her face would freeze; and Lydia marched at the head of the pack, a lioness on the hunt for blood. Unease pooled in his stomach. The pack was growing increasingly resentful, and if things continued Stiles feared it could all fall apart.

He winced at the thought. He wasn't clingy, but they were his family now and he didn't want to lose that stability. He didn't want to return to those days when he had to fight a losing battle versus Allison for Scott's attention. He didn't want to go back to only being spoken to when something was needed. He liked hanging out on the weekends doing nothing yet everything at the same time. He didn't mind the puppy piles even if Danny had a snoring problem and Scott, Lydia, and Isaac had a possessive problem. It was his family.

Scott paused and looked back at him, the gold dissipating from his irises. He didn't speak, just communicated in that way only they could. Stiles shook his head and kept walking. Scott reluctantly accepted it and followed. The truth was Stiles didn't want the others fussing over him, and if they knew his deepest insecurities that was exactly what would happen.

They stepped out of the trees into a beautiful sunset. The blood red sun was just kissing the tops of the trees, casting blankets of pinks and oranges across the sky. A flock of black birds circled majestically overhead before disappearing. The leaves continued to fall, but in the falling light they seemed to vibrate and dance. The Hale house stood proudly against the backdrop, a picturesque structure that drew those seeking seclusion and quiet thrumming woodland life.

And there was Derek standing on the porch. Even in the fading light and at that distance Stiles could see the furious scowl set in the stone face. His arms were crossed over his chest, hands tight fists. His eyes were dark red, his canines protruding from his mouth. Isaac grabbed the hood of his sweater and pulled him slightly back, until he was directly in the middle of the group. Iris linked her hand in his and it dawned on Stiles that the wolves were trying to protect the human members, despite the threat being their alpha.

Derek stomped down the stairs and marched towards them. The betas winced and ducked their heads, but Lydia and Scott held their chins high, staring him down. They seemed to be the only wolves able to argue or challenge Derek. Stiles briefly wondered if it had anything to do with Scott being bitten by Peter and Lydia still retaining some of her hybrid abilities.

"Where the hell have you all been? Did you forget that we have rogue hunters out there trying to take us out? Or did you forget that we're already down one pack member? Is training not important to you all? You think you can take them on? Well? Answer me!" he roared.

Iris cringed into Stiles' side and he couldn't pretend he himself didn't feel a small spike of fear. The wolves quailed under the assault, but Lydia gritted her teeth. "We wanted a break Derek. Just to hang out together without the drama and you-" she began before Derek cut her off.

"A break? You think this is a game where you get time outs and hit the bench? This is real life! We get hunted and die or we fight back. There are no breaks in this. You knew what you were getting into when you asked for the Bite. You can't pick and choose how to live this life!"

She stepped up to him her eyes a fiery gold. "I knew what I asked for. But this isn't the way our lives are. We can fight and you know it! I am Lydia Ann Martin and I live the way I want to. You may be alpha, but you are certainly not the deciding factor of my life."

"I'm trying to keep you alive! What part of that don't you idiots get?" His voice had dropped and octave, into that double alpha voice. "I'm sick of trying and working my ass. I'm not going to watch you all die because you're too stupid and immature-"

Another thing Lydia hates: being called stupid. Her nostrils flared and Scott and Danny lurched forward, grabbing her arms. She growled dangerously, seething and glaring at Derek. "Just because you were dumb enough to fuck around with a hunter and get your family killed doesn't mean we'll do the same thing!"

The force of her words were etched clearly on Derek's face. For a hesitant second the hurt flashed through his eyes. They shifted to hazel before the red returned so dark it was black. Stiles swallowed thickly, the silence stretching into an endless abyss. He'd dreaded something like this, but they'd all thought the same thing. True, none of them blamed Derek for his family's murder, but they had to admit he'd screwed up. And though Lydia was the first to voice their opinions it only confirmed Derek's fear that they held him accountable for the horrid deed.

Finally, as darkness enveloped them Derek spoke so dangerously low the hair stood up on Stiles' arms. "If you want to leave Lydia you can. There's the door. I'm not going to make you stay if you don't want to. None of you have to stay. I'm going to lead you the way I see necessary because I am the alpha. I don't need any of you; I know how to survive. It's you who need me. So leave. Get out."

Stiles had had enough. It was not going to end like that. They were upset and nothing good would come of this. If he didn't defuse the situation somehow, the pack would fall apart. He stepped away from Iris and pushed himself between the two. He reached out to Derek, tenderly placing a palm on his shoulder. His heart thrummed so loudly that even his human ears could hear it. "Derek calm down. We need to talk about this when-"

The man shoved his hand away, refusing to meet his eye. "We don't have to talk about anything. This is between the wolves Stiles, not you."

He was taken aback. "Since when do you differentiate between us? I'm pack Derek. You-"

The man looked up at him with angry black eyes. "That's a decision I question every day. You don't belong in a wolf pack…or with any of us at all…" his voice trailed off, but there was no need to continue. Stiles felt his throat tighten, his lungs implode on themselves. A fist slammed again and again at his ribs, splintering them and a cruel hand grabbed at his heart, twisting and tearing a gaping hole in his chest. The unsaid _or with me _rang loud and clear. The mood shifted considerably. He felt someone reaching for him, pulling him against a chest, but he couldn't figure out who it was.

He heard Lydia's quiet voice in the darkness. "Take him home. Don't leave him." And then he was lifted off the ground into strong arms. The forest began to blur by at astonishing speeds. He was numb from head to toe, his mind a blank slate. And suddenly something was being pulled tautly over his chest and an animal was purring underneath him. Then the trees were gone, only to be replaced by houses and other buildings.

Someone kept talking to him, but he couldn't understand him, like cotton was in his ears. And then the strange arms were around him again, and he connected that the voice and the arms belonged to the same person. He was going up stairs. And then a soft bed was beneath him, a blanket placed firmly around him.

The voice whispered something and his hand shot out, grabbing onto the stranger's wrist. He looked up pleadingly. Scott's face swam into view, his brown eyes watching him warily. And it was that look that broke his walls.

* * *

Three days. Three days of sitting silently in crushing numbness. Three days of struggling to breathe without throwing himself into a panic attack. Three fucking days.

The first night was the worse. It didn't matter that the pack- minus Allison and Iris- held on to him. It didn't matter that Scott held his head against his heart all night and tried to take the pain away. The nightmares were brutal and unforgiving, their potency following him into the wee hours of the morning. By the time the sun rose his throat was raw, his eyes dry and out of tears.

The next day he refused to leave his bedroom or eat. He just lay in his bed, staring at his wrist, his thumb rubbing the small crescent shaped bruise there. He couldn't find the strength to answer his father's questions or even talk. He didn't acknowledge the pack when they hesitantly came to him in the middle of the night; just lay there as they cuddled with him. And as his eyes drifted closed he braced himself for the nightmares.

The third day Lydia, Scott, and Isaac had skipped school to stay with him. Isaac forced him to eat with much pleading and the use of puppy dog eyes. He hadn't been aware of how hungry he really was until the steamy lasagna slid down his throat and he groaned for more. Scott forced him to take a shower, gently coaxing him out of bed and down the hall. After, Lydia pulled him down with her on the couch downstairs, his head resting on her bosom, her delicate fingers running through his hair. Scott pressed against his other side and Isaac sat in front of them on the floor, flipping aimlessly through the channels. They sat like that for hours, until his father came home, until it was time to go to sleep and his body couldn't take it anymore. The three were tactful enough to say nothing of the quiet tears he'd shed throughout the day.

The fourth day, he had enough. His eyes opened long before his alarm and he blinked into the gray morning. A light rain danced against the windows, but the sun was still peeking through the clouds. He sat up, stretching and yawning loudly. Immediately he was met with seven pairs of eyes. Lydia's green eyes looked into his sleepily, her lips lightly puckered in confusion; Scott and Isaac were whining slightly, unconsciously burrowing into him; Erica seemed perfectly alert, her eyes locked on his, sadness etched in the irises; Allison ran a hand through her hair tiredly, a sad smile on her face; Boyd was silent, his face blank as usual; and Danny's eyebrows were scrunched together, his eyes round with worry.

"Morning," he mumbled softly. It didn't feel right to see the dark circles under their eyes or the worry in them. The teens climbed off of him, watching mutely. Stiles felt cold and ashamed. Where was the tranquil ease they'd always experienced after pack piles?

He swung his feet around and stood, stretching and yawned again. He saw them out of the corner of his eyes release pent up breaths. "I'm fine guys, really. Just…can I have a minute alone? I'll see you at school."

The teens looked at Lydia and Scott, and stiles couldn't help but smile. Their hands were intertwined, both standing tall in the center like pillars. It didn't surprise him that the two would hold things together. The two exchanged a quick glance before Lydia nodded and herded the others out of the room. Scott, however, did not budge.

Scott and Stiles stood there for a long minute, neither speaking. And really, what was there to say? Stiles had been there for Scott when his heart had been broken, he'd been that brother and friend. Now their roles were reversed, but there was nothing that could be said that'd remedy the heart ache. Stiles now understood why even after he'd given words of advice and wisdom, Scott still suffered. Words did not heal a broken heart.

"Stiles…I- I know….I know you're hurting right now. Believe me I do. Just…don't shut us out. We don't care what he said. You are the reason this pack is still standing…the reason half of us are even alive right now. I know we aren't as close as we used to be…but I'm still your brother man. I'm here for you." He blushed and ducked his head.

Stiles swallowed. "I know man, I know." He looked up and there it was again, that unspoken language that only years of having each other's backs could build. They wouldn't say the words out loud, but it was there in the chocolate pools of Scott's eyes and the innocent irises of Stiles' eyes. _I love you. _Neither said another word, and Scott, his brother, left him to his own devices.

It took a good ten minutes or so for him to defrost. He heard his father moving around downstairs and the sounds of the neighborhood waking up outside. His heart thumped in his ears, his breathing slow. For the first time in days he was actually breathing, thinking. He shook his head and went to his closet, moving clothes this way and that. He pulled down a pair of faded jeans and a black t-shirt, not really paying attention to his selections in particular.

He opened his door and walked quickly to the bathroom before he could be intercepted. He paused to assess himself in the mirror, the numbness almost reasserting its control. He looked like hell. His eyes were bloodshot from days of crying, his cheeks red and raw. His hair stuck up in every direction, as if he'd been electrocuted. The bags under his eyes were dark purple, three days worth of facial hair on his face. His fists clenched. Why did he do this to himself?

Stiles stepped under the hot spray of the shower and scrubbed himself vigorously. He wanted to wash it all away, the despair, and the loneliness, everything that wasn't who he was. He scrubbed until his skin was pink and tender to the touch before stepping out and drying himself off. He stepped into his jeans, shaking his head at the way they hugged his hips. He and Lydia would have to talk about this one day. He took a quick minute to run a hand through his hair and shave the fuzz from his face. He noted that unless he wanted hair like Scott or Isaac, he'd have to trim it pretty soon. Then he reached for the shirt.

He held it up in front of him, the material light in his hands. He fingered it carefully before holding it up to his nose and sniffing lightly. And there it was. The smell of demons and the earth. The smell of the woods and all things he wanted but could no longer have. This was Derek's shirt. He blinked, realizing he was shaking, his chest heaving. He dropped the garment and gripped the counter top tightly, his knuckles turning white. He wouldn't break down again, couldn't. He needed to move on.

He hurled himself from the restroom, slamming into his father. He staggered back, and would have fallen if not for the man reaching out and catching his shoulders. Stiles stared at the ground, willing to rid himself of the emotions before they doomed him. He didn't want to see his father's eyes right now.

"Stiles we need to talk." His voice was firm, but gentle. In other words, John was going to say his piece and Stiles would listen whether he like it or not. He nodded and allowed himself to be towed downstairs to the kitchen. He plopped down into one of the wooden chairs, ignoring the food before him. His dad sat down across from him and ran a hand down his face. Stiles noticed how much older his looked and grimaced; so much for preserving his life.

"Stiles…I know I may be a lot older than you, and for some reason it may have slipped your mind that I was once a teenager myself. True I wasn't in your situation, but I know what heartbreak feels like. There was a time for instance, when your mother and I weren't technically together."

Stiles looked up at him. He'd never heard that before. It had always been the love story of the ages, the townspeople doting on them and such. "What do you mean?"

John looked down at the table. His voice dropped to a whisper. "It was shortly before you were born. Your mother and I were having trouble, not exactly seeing eye to eye with one another. One night I had been out drinking with some friends and when I came home I was more than drunk. Your mother, about seven months pregnant, was livid that I'd return home in such a state. We went at it like cats and dogs, hurtling words at each other that had never touched our lips. And your mother had a tongue on her, just like you. Well, I crossed the line, I said something I shouldn't have and she slapped me for it. And I was drunk…so drunk and not myself…" his voice trailed off.

Stiles could only stare at his father. "And you hit her…" he whispered.

The man nodded, taking a long breath before continuing. "I felt so horrible after, but the deed had been done. And she was so hurt. She left me, stayed with her sister for weeks after. I sobered up real quick son. I sat thinking about the events leading up to that point and how I had not hurt her physically, but emotionally. I'd severed something, I'd broken a vow to the only woman I ever loved. But I learned from my mistakes. I went to her on my hands and knees begging her forgiveness. You happened to be born a week later, but she forgave me that day. She forgave me and we never looked back."

Stiles shook his head, unable to fathom his parents ever having a dispute. He'd been there; he'd seen the love and devotion. "What does this have to do with me?"

John reached across the table and gripped his hands. "Son, I know the two of you more than you think. I see it in the way you act around each other. It doesn't matter how far or close you are; when you shift he shifts. I see the look in his eyes when he looks at you. He may not be a man of many emotions, but you are his world. Whatever he did, whatever he said, he didn't mean to hurt you. Anger can make a man do and say things he'd never normally do or say. You're hurt, but I guarantee he is too. You two are just too stubborn to talk to each other." He paused a minute, waiting for Stiles to meet his eyes. "now, I may not approve entirely of the relationship, but I do know that both of you are completely devoted to the other. And I know you're happy with him. Son, don't let this one thing be the end of what you have…"

He retracted his hand and Stiles let his gaze drop back to the table. He smirked. "You've been watching soap operas again haven't you?"

John groaned and shook his head. "Fine, next time I'll let you wallow in pity so I can gorge myself with junk and high fat foods guilt free." He pushed away from the table and stomped out of the kitchen. Stiles waited until he was gone and let the smile drop from his face. he understood what his dad was saying, but he wasn't sure there was a way to fix this. Derek had made up his mind, and Stiles didn't want to deal with rejection.

He quickly ran upstairs and pulled on a plain blue shirt, picked up his keys, and bounded to the jeep.

* * *

Stiles sat there in the jeep for an eternity, fighting himself. He was stupid, a masochist. Did he want to send himself over the edge? What was he here for? Derek didn't want him, had said he didn't belong. But here he was, sitting in front of the Hale house, working up the nerve to give the Sour wolf a piece of his mind.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel. He was a mess. Where was the kid who, just a year ago had joined a wolf pack? Where was the kid that had taken out an alpha and Kanima? Where was the boy who'd fought an alpha pack the summer past and totally kicked ass? He'd been in this from the minute Scott was bitten, long before he or Derek became involved. And he could learn to get over that if it was necessary. But he would not leave the pack without a fight. It wasn't who he was. They were his family and even if Derek wasn't willing to accept him the others did. Derek couldn't kick him out. Break up with him? Sure, hadn't it already been done? But telling him to stay away forever was out of the question. He was in this for life. And Derek needed to know.

He took a deep breath and stepped out of the jeep, tucking his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. He walked quickly up the porch, pausing only to control himself. He turned the knob and stepped into the foyer, closing the door behind him. The house itself was dead silent, reeking of loneliness and abandonment. But that was ridiculous; Jackson was still incapacitated and Derek couldn't leave without the others noticing. Lead pooled in Stiles' stomach and he suddenly felt dizzy. He didn't want to be here, but he had to do this.

Taking a deep breath, he ascended the stairs. Every few steps he paused, listening and waiting for Derek to appear and dismiss him. But the werewolf wasn't suddenly at the top of the stairs with that sexy scowl in place or arms crossed over his well defined chest. Stiles stopped just at the top of the staircase, suddenly worried. Why hadn't Derek shown himself? Had something happened to him? Stiles shook his head to clear it. Derek was fine.

He turned left, walking to the door just at the end of the hall. His hands closed around the door knob, but he couldn't seem to turn it. Just minutes ago his resolve seemed perfectly logical, but now, standing before his maker, he felt stupid and inadequate. In the dark reality of things, he had no real claim to the pack. They had the brawn, and with Lydia and Danny they had the brains. Sure, he'd been there from the beginning, but that was sort of self immersion. He could have been Scott's friend and stayed out of things. He still could. Would Derek bring this up?

Stiles held his breath, twisted the knob, and pushed the bedroom door open, the words on his lips. He stepped into the bedroom, void of anything more than a dresser and bed. The words he'd so carefully thought about stuck in his throat as he stood there in the doorway. Derek was fine. He was sleeping.

Stiles approached the bed slowly, as if in a trance, his heart oddly calm, but tears pricking his eyes. The troubled man looked so innocent and young in his sleep. His lips were slightly parted, his arms clutching a pillow to his naked torso. His hair was wild and unruly as usual. But his face was relaxed, the muscles smooth. His eyes were dark underneath, hinting at sleepless nights, but in this moment it only made him look vulnerable.

A tear splashed on the cheek and Stiles let his walls break. He'd known what his dad was hinting at earlier that morning. Hadn't he noticed it? Yeah, his dad was interested in other women, but no woman would ever be his mother. He'd already fallen in love; anything else wouldn't match up. Stiles was in the same boat. He'd fallen, and he'd fallen hard. He didn't want to let this go. But the words weren't there, and the anguish was crushing him.

Derek groaned and peered up at him sleepily. He blinked, a bewildered expression crossing his face before he sat bolt upright in bed. "Stiles what's wrong?" The man threw back the covers and stood, pulling Stiles to him. He stroked his back and hair, sniffing at him to make sure he was unharmed. "Stiles talk to me. What can I do?" his voice cracked a little.

Stiles gasped and wrapped his arms around his neck. He buried his face against the warm chest and exhaled sharply. He willed the tears to stop. This wasn't what he came here to do. he was going to say what he had to and leave. But his fingers found themselves in Derek's thick hair, and the man was holding him gently against his body.

He waited until he had gotten himself under control before speaking. "Derek I'm not leaving this pack. you may…not want me anymore, but this pack is my family. I can't leave them."

Derek paused and pulled back to stare at him. "What are you talking about? You don't have to leave Stiles. Why would you…" his voice suddenly cut off and Stiles felt his muscles tighten. He crushed Stiles against him, burying his face into his neck. "Stiles I am so sorry. I'm so sorry."

He didn't say anything, just clung to him as if his life depended on it. "Derek…." The words were stolen from him, swallowed in Derek's kiss. The man's lips were warm and soft against his own. He fell into it, fisting his hands in the man's hair and allowing himself to be devoured in a hungry, passionate kiss.

Derek broke it only to let him breathe, but he held his chin so that they were looking into each other's eyes. "I am sorry Stiles. I will never hurt you again. Please forgive me."

Stiles leaned up and pressed his lips ever so tenderly against Derek's. of course he would forgive him, there was not a doubt in his mind that he would. That anger he'd felt seemed to ebb out of him in violent torrents, until his body was shaking. Derek held him and eventually, somehow, they were both lying on the mattress.

He blushed despite himself. Laying in his own bed was one thing, but it seemed more intimate here. He snuggled closer to Derek, allowing himself to be wrapped in warmth, his forehead peppered in small kisses. Derek looked down at him through those hazel eyes. "Stiles I will never hurt you again. I-I didn't mean what I said. I'm not leaving you and I won't let you walk out of my life. You're too important to me."

Stiles held his gaze and pressed against him. "I know…you are too."

* * *

Lydia was the first to notice he was gone. she'd been hesitant to leave him in the first place, and his absence only confirmed her fears. At lunch she pulled the pack into an empty classroom. They all held the same worried expressions, confirming her suspicion. "Stiles isn't here and he isn't responding to anything I send him."

Scott punched a wall. "This is all Derek's fault! Why would he say something like that? Stiles has always been with us! He's kept us alive! He's saved Derek's ass more than once. How could he kick him out of the pack like that?"

Lydia pursed her lips. "Easy. We pushed him over the edge. I honestly don't think he meant to say what he said anymore than I did. I just think Stiles got caught in the crossfire trying to keep us calm."

Erica shook her head. "We had a right to get angry with Derek. He's been too uptight. He's acting just like eh used to. Before the alphas ever attacked us."

"But he did have a point. We haven't been looking into this as seriously as we should have. He already lost his family once. I'm guessing he doesn't want to again." Boyd murmured.

Isaac whined through his teeth. Scott placed a hand on his shoulder, guilt coursing through his body. "I'm guessing we all are a little stressed here. We can't pretend things didn't change when Jackson returned like he did. I agree with Boyd. Derek's been through hell and we are all he's got left."

The teens said nothing. finally Lydia piped up. "I was wrong to say what I did. I know that. But we can deal with that later. If what we are saying is true, then Derek never meant to say what he did and Stiles is still his everything. This means we need to find him in case he's in trouble."

* * *

"I don't think he's in trouble." Scott whispered with a smirk. Lydia jabbed him hard in the ribs, a dazzling smile lighting up her face. They crowded in the doorway of the master bedroom, trying to be as quiet as possible.

The blanket lay on the ground. Sunlight streamed in lazily through the window, the window open, inviting the autumn air. Stiles lay with his back to Derek, his hands holding the wolf's arms around his waist. Derek was spooning him, his face pressed snuggly against the back of his head. The scene was domestic, tranquil and beautiful. Yet as much as Lydia wanted to remain there forever in that moment, they were intruding on something that didn't belong to them. she poked and prodded until the others were in the hallway and closed the door behind her with a snap.

"I guess we should have known." She whispered. She didn't want to startle the sleeping alpha not with the fragile human in his arms.

Scott shook his head. "I'll never understand those two." He was rewarded with several punches.

"They don't need your approval." Erica sniffed happily. They giggled for a minute, and then the air shifted. Immediately the wolves were on guard, eyes bleeding gold and teeth and claws at the ready. They whirled around, looking for the threat. Lydia nearly fainted. Peter stood behind them, looking in all the world refreshed. His trip must have gone well. But that wasn't what sent them all to their knees. No, it was the young boy he was supporting…

"Jackson." They breathed in unison.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Boom! I think that went rather well, don't you agree? Now Peter's back and Jackson is conscious? What could this all mean? If you review, I may drop a few hints! **


	18. Haze

Author's Notes: Hello everyone. I would just like to tell you that the next set of chapters will be somewhat explicit with language and violence. There will be multiple points of views and time lapses. For that purpose you might notice that there will be dates and or specific times. Trust me all of this is to help you. But again, these will be extremely explicit, so I sincerely urge that you read them only if you are a mature teenager that can handle the magnitude of violence that will be depicted. I'd hate for it to damage anyone or hurt anyone. Thank You!

* * *

_Jackson's POV _

A dim light filtered in through the dirty window. The soft glow warmed his naked legs and torso, kissing the now faded bruises and wounds. Outside, the calling of evening birds and scampering of woodland animals serenaded the ending day, the crunch of fallen leaves creating a light rhythm that pounded against his heart. A sweet yet pungent cocktail of scents wafted underneath the cracks of the doors, oozed through the wall and floorboards, curling deliciously under his nostrils. Just outside those doors, only meters away, was the childlike banter of his friends, his comrades, his pack mates. Yet he was lost to this, trapped in the bloody entanglements of his mind screaming for a death that by some grace of mercy would surely come…

_The crackle of electricity muffled his agonized shrieks, the smell of burnt and cooking flesh choking him. His weakened arms pulled at his bindings until the chains dug into his skin, drawing dark trickle of blood. His chest heaved, his lungs hanging in tatters around his swollen heart. His abdomen was on fire; as if a syringe of liquid mercury had been pumped into him. Oh, how he wanted to die! To just fade into unconsciousness and never open his eyes again. But no; the cruelty of it all was that he was not allowed to die. Just suffer again and again like some sick toy. And to make it all better he sometimes craved it even. The pain let him know that he was still alive; told him that some ounce of strength was still reserved into his beaten muscles. But that ounce was slowly depreciating. _

_Some words were mumbled, but his addled thoughts and sluggish senses were too slow to understand the words, and he was punished. A large fist connected with the side of his jaw, snapping his head to the side. Coppery liquid pooled in his mouth and he spit it to the floor below him. That earned him another kick to the gut. He hissed, unable to scream at the splintering of his ribs. Then two forceful fingers grabbed his chin and forced his face upward._

_He stared into the cold chocolate brown eyes. Eyes that looked so startling familiar to him…no. Those eyes had been kind and warm, and were surrounded by thick lashes and a dimpled smile. He did not know this monster. "I said," the beast growled, "Where is Derek Hale hiding?" _

_Derek…Derek! His alpha, they wanted his alpha. He couldn't, wouldn't tell them anything. He had to stay strong, until the others found him and saved him. He could do it; he would do it. _

_The human monstrosity slapped him for his silence. Jackson winced. "Do you think your silence will save you boy? My patience is wearing thin. Now you will tell me where he is…or I could bring that little girlfriend of yours here and slit her whore throat right in front of you. Is that what you want? To be splattered and stained in your whore's blood? Or maybe you'd rather I keep her as my little pet? Let's see how long she lasts under your conditions…" the man dropped his chin, eyes alight with fire. _

_Jackson pulled at his bindings, gnashing his teeth. "Stay away from her." His voice sounded rough and hoarse from all the screaming, but he didn't care. They wouldn't touch Lydia as long as he was still breathing. The pack would never let any harm come to Lydia, of that he was certain. _

_The man laughed. "Did I strike a nerve? I sincerely hope so, because I will slaughter everyone you love without hesitation if you continue to disobey me. Those pushover parents of yours, your faggot best friend, and every single pack member. They all will die because of you…_

His eyes flew open wildly, a strangled cry swallowed down his throat. He was aware of a weight pressing down on him, one hand clapped over his mouth while the other rubbed at his body. He felt the panic slowly leaving him, his heart slowing to a sluggish crawl, but he didn't understand it. Fear nestled in him. Where was he? What had happened? He had to know.

The weight disappeared and a face loomed over him. The man had grey blue eyes and dark blonde hair. He smelled faintly familiar, like the Earth and death; not really alive yet not really dead. He smiled, revealing two rows of pearly white teeth. Jackson tried to focus on the face…it was so familiar….

"I'm glad to see that you're awake, Jackson. You've worried us sick." The man said slowly. And that's when he connected the dots. He knew this man because this man had started everything. This was the man that had pulled them into the secret world of the supernatural. Peter Hale.

"Peter…" he breathed. Relief ballooned inside of his chest at the sight of one of his pack members.

Peter nodded, something flashing in his eyes and the man held a thin finger to his lips. Jackson understood; he needed to remain silent. His head swam with questions to ask, but the words refuse to form coherent sentences, further throwing his jumbled thoughts out the window. He blinks and attempts to sit up. The act itself is painful enough to send him back into a shock induced coma. His spine creaks in protest, his skin stretching and bulging in ways it shouldn't. He grits his teeth and blinks back the stinging tears until he is sitting upright, clutching the thin sheet covering him and panting with exertion.

Peter stands back and watches with a calculating look in his eyes. Upon closer inspection of the man's face Jackson saw pity and other subtle changes. Jackson frowned. There was something definitely different about Peter Hale, as if his aura had somehow changed. He shook his head; his senses were probably still out of whack. He took a minute to completely survey his surroundings. He was in a simple room with a bed and dresser, a closet, and a bathroom. The smell of medicine was thick in the air, somewhat sickening.

"Where am I?" he whispered. His arm spasm suddenly and he winced at the sensation of someone holding a white hot branding iron against his skin.

The older man ignored his query and instead dropped down until they were eyelevel. Jackson flinched, though he didn't know why. Peter just seemed to exude power unlike anything he'd felt before and it frightened him. He felt the overwhelming urge to submit, to bend ever so longingly at the man's feet and do his bidding. "Jackson can you stand on your feet? Will that overexert you?"

He hesitated before answering. Honestly he wasn't sure what he could or couldn't do. Jackson didn't know how his broken body would respond to anything he did. Sitting up alone had almost sent him back into that cold state between life and death. What would happen when he stood? When he took his first steps? "I don't know…"

Peter nodded distractedly before standing and offering a hand. Jackson stared at it questioningly. "You can trust me Jackson. Nothing more will happen to you."

And Jackson trusted him. He listened to Peter's words, but more importantly his heart. Not a blip; in fact it was calm and reassuring. He hesitated, but grasped the warm hand and allowed himself to be dragged from the mattress. It was excruciating. The very fibers that held him together tore, blood coating his skin. His muscles throbbed and unraveled, his bones splintering into a fine powder. His vision went white, his mind assaulted with wave after wave of agony.

And then he was aware of something supporting him, a warm rock of a body. The white seeped slowly out of his eyes until he was staring at a mass of people, blurred by his tears. Slowly he felt the pain sliding from his body, felt a comfort nestle over him. Gradually he came back together, enough so that his breathing wasn't labored and every pulse of his heart wasn't a stab to his chest.

"Jackson…" the mass of people breathed in unison.

Jackson blinked and tried to focus on them. They stood shoulder to shoulder in the cramped hallway, identical masks of shock and wonder on their faces. Their faces slapped him one by one in the dim light. He recognized Isaac's unruly curly hair and innocent gray green eyes; he stared at Scott's crooked chin and dimples as well as the puppy like brown eyes. Erica's blonde hair was pulled from her face, her seductive amber colored eyes brimming with tears; Boyd was frozen in disbelief, his mouth agape. Steady streams of happy tears were streaking down Allison's pretty face, her warm chocolate eyes locked on his; Iris was beside herself, clutching at Isaac. And then there was Danny.

Jackson felt suddenly overwhelmed and protective as he took in his best friend. He'd seemed to have grown at least a foot since the last time they'd seen each other. His eyes were unreadable, but Jackson didn't need to look into them to know. Danny, his innocent Danny had been dragged into the fold. He was a werewolf. Bile rose in his throat. He was part happy, part distressed. The boy was too sweet, too fragile for the world he'd been thrust in to, but now he had some form of protection at least. He felt himself stumble out of Peter's grasp and met Danny in a bone crushing hug. He didn't care how his body protested. Danny was alive and safe.

After a moment he released his best friend whose cheeks were flaming red. Jackson swiveled until he found _her. _There she stood, in every way as perfect as an angel. His dim memories of her did not do Lydia Martin justice. Her red hair now fell just below her shapely breasts. Her fierce green eyes were wet as they took him in. Her full lips were parted slightly as if in disbelief. She sucked in a shaky breath and a tear escaped, falling on her delicious lips. He stepped toward her and cupped her face in both hands, his thumb wiping it away from her smoother than silk flawless skin. She was shaking, her hair quivering. He felt his arms encircle her and buried his nose in the crook of her neck. She smelled of the purest flowers and honey, all the sweetest substances on the planet. Her skin was plush and soft beneath his hands. Her body was warm and inviting, her nerves igniting under his touch. His hands roamed over her body, touching every precious inch of her he could reach.

She stifled a sob and pulled him in for a heated, passionate kiss. His lips melted onto hers, parting them slightly. Their tongues dueled, the want and need he'd felt clouding his mind. They were drunk on euphoria and he was okay with that. His Lydia, his life was alive. She was as soft and snug as the day he left her. She was safe and surrounded by their friends. His everything….she was his everything. He didn't know when it happened, but when they pulled apart he was surprised to feel the wetness on his cheeks as well.

* * *

Author's notes: Okay this is a short little buffer chapter, but the inspiration struck me and I had to post it just like this. Hope you like it.


	19. Reunions and Blood Part 1

_Allison's POV_

Something was wrong here, completely wrong. Maybe it was the way the betas surrounding her seemed to submit to Peter's words, or maybe it was the way he was staring with a twisted smile at her pack members, every now and again shooting her pointed glares. Maybe it was the way he assessed Danny's strength and speed, as if assessing a horse to buy. Maybe it was the way he seethed watching Lydia and Jackson practically had sex on the front porch. Maybe it was the way he kept staring off into the distance impatiently, a frown creasing his brow.

Whatever the reason Allison was suspicious. Peter had never claimed himself as pack, even though he battled with them to kill the alphas. Soon after, he left without a backwards glance. They didn't bother pursuing, knowing that it would be futile and possibly dangerous to attempt to force him to stay. Not to mention, the guy was creepy and bat shit crazy in Allison's opinion. So it struck her as odd that he appeared out of the blue without detection, carrying a somewhat conscious Jackson with him. The others were distracted with the euphoria of having Jackson back to himself, and while she was just as excited, the hairs on her arms were standing up.

"Tell me darling, what are you thinking about?" whispered a voice in her ear. Allison's instincts kicked in and she immediately grabbed the owner of the voice and flipped him over her back, simultaneously pinning him to the forest floor and pinning a blade to his throat.

Peter held up his hands defensively, but his eyes didn't shift, nor did he wolf out. She jumped off of him quickly, backing until her back was pressed against the side of the Hale house. Peter stood and dusted himself off, a funny smile on his face. "Calm yourself kitten, it's just your friendly neighborhood werewolf."

Allison scowled. "Well you know what they say about dogs and cats…" she flinched when he was suddenly half an arm's length away.

"Actually I don't…" he drawled, looking up at her through his eye lashes. He fingered a lock of her hair, holding it up to his nose. "Care to elaborate kitten."

She jerked back, swallowing uneasily and edging away from him. Peter was dangerous, could seriously hurt her without using much force if he wanted. "What do you want Peter?"

He dropped the hair and shrugged his shoulders innocently. "I would like to talk with you is all…but first you should calm your heartbeat. Wouldn't want any of your friends to think something's wrong."

"They're werewolves. They'll hear anything you have to say."

"Not if we go some distance away. There's a little rock formation just through those trees there. We can go if you'd like. Come now kitten, you can trust me."

She didn't believe him for one second, but she was curious what he had to say. She cast a worried look at her pack mates who were circled around Jackson, all vying for his attention. If anything went down she could at least scream for help and they'd be there. She gnawed on her bottom lip for a moment before agreeing somewhat absently.

Pleased, the wolf stepped back, gesturing in the direction they should go. Allison hesitated before controlling herself. She was a seasoned huntress; she shouldn't be afraid of wolves considering she'd been around them for so long now. But Peter Hale was a different breed of danger. He'd escaped the bowels of Hell and managed to control Lydia from beyond the grave. There was no telling what he was capable of. Allison nonetheless swallowed her fear and marched into the trees.

In the fast approaching twilight the shadows seemed more sinister, hungry and clawing at her soul. She shivered and pulled her sweater tighter around her thin body. Peter chuckled behind her and she shot him a filthy look before quickening her pace; her instincts were screaming for her to run now, but she ignored them. On she pressed, until it seemed as if she'd been walking for hours and the canopy above blocked out the fading sun. She finally screwed up the courage to stop and turned on him.

To her surprise he'd stopped as well, a strange look on his partially obscured face. Allison reached behind her back and gripped the handle of her switchblade. "Okay, talk."

Peter stepped toward her, head cocked to the side, studying her. "I don't understand you Allison," he whispered. "A young woman in your position with such a… colorful history…"

Her jaw tensed. "What of it?" she snapped sharply. It was none of his business what her past looked like. All that mattered were her actions now.

He shrugged and she noticed he took another step towards her. "I want to know why you are here Allison. You are a smart girl, so I'm sure you understand the implications of what you are doing by aligning yourself with wolves. Especially since you are the chosen mate of a werewolf. So what is it you're planning here? What ingenious plan have the Argents concocted this time to eradicate wolves?"

Allison took a step back, confused. "What are you talking about Peter? I love Scott. I love Lydia and Jackson and Stiles. Every one of them is my friend and I would never hurt them."

The man shook his head. "Sadly I don't believe you. You see, as wolves have compulsions so do born hunters. The more exposure you experience to the supernatural, the more your urge to kill and defend mankind will take precedence. The humanity of your friends won't matter to you anymore; it will be enough to simply see the beast and kill them. That is what Kate did."

"I'm not Kate." Allison snarled fiercely. How dare he! "I don't follow a code or expectations. I know what I want and it's not to murder innocent-"

Peter growled and she flinched, heart spiking. "You cannot deny your fate my child, just as I can't ignore my urges…"

Allison felt a scream building in her chest, but they were just reaching the climax. "Peter…why have you pulled me out here?" Her voice was barely audible, but she knew he heard her and her fear.

The man smiled and slunk towards her. "Well, we can't leave you to the hands of fate now can we? It's much safer for everyone if we make you an official member of the pack…"

Her eyes grew wide with terror and she turned to flee. She heard his quiet chuckle turn into a menacing growl, but refused to look back. She crashed through the trees ahead, branches slapping at her face. She cried out for Scott as she ran, hoping that he would hear, that he would save her. This was not what was supposed to happen. This was not her life. She was caught between wolves and hunters and she refused to take a side namely because either choice would ignite a war, and the result could be the end of them all. They never should have trusted Peter. The man was too smart for his own good, always working in the shadows like the demon he was.

She ran until her legs burned and her breaths came in short, painful bursts. Allison doubled over, trying to collect herself. Her hunter training started to kick into gear. She had to stay focused and weld with her surroundings. The forest was dead silent, apart from her rapid breathing and thumping heart. It was too dark to really see much of anything, but if she squinted she could see a faded trail. That at least meant she was closer to the Hale house than when she began. Though she wanted to, she didn't want to risk calling out to Scott and giving away her position.

As silently as she could manage, Allison inched backward, weapon drawn and eyes roaming the trees. She harbored no hope that she'd escape Peter unscathed, but at least she was going down fighting. Tears stung at her eyes and she wiped them away impatiently. She would not let Peter Hale bite her; turn her into his puppet slave. If he did her father would surely kill him on the spot, possibly her as well. No, it was better to die, so as not to see the suffering the others would endure. If she did perish her father will blame all the wolves and they'd all have to be eliminated because of Peter, though if it appeared the others had no knowledge of her attack they could be pardoned. She had to hope at least.

Shame suddenly gripped her. Was she that much of a coward to wish death to escape it all? She could just as easily leave Peter as Erica and Boyd wanted to do at one point. No, she wasn't a coward like Kate. Her aunt had murdered innocent people and ran as if nothing happened. She had been sick and twisted. She wasn't a coward like her mother. Her mother, who took her own life thinking it was the best course of action. She was Allison Nicole Argent and she was a fighter.

A hand clamped on her shoulder and she jumped a foot in the air. She spun around, knife at the ready before a fist slammed into the side of her face and her knife went flying. She crumbled to the ground, seeing stars. A light flashed down onto her face and she squinted at the figure looming over her. The color drained from her face. "G-Gerard."

* * *

_Peter's POV _

Nothing was going to plan. He hadn't meant to lose control, but something had snapped inside of him. He'd genuinely wanted to talk to the Argent girl, not scare or attack her. But the breeze had carried her scent to his delicate nose and his alpha went crazy. Though he wasn't a trusting individual he trusted that she had chosen her side in the never ending battle between hunter and wolf, but his alpha instincts had screamed for him to attack and he'd blindly obliged. The urge to kill had been too strong for him to fight and he'd chased the poor girl for some time until he'd been able to reign in his beast. It was too difficult to control such power and he briefly wondered if that was what had triggered him when he'd killed Laura.

He squeezed his eyes closed against the venomous memory, but it stabbed at him viciously. _The moon overhead was shadowed by dark ominous clouds. His weak body sagged against a tree, his breathing slow and labored. He was much too weak to be here, but there was business to attend to. For years he'd been trapped within the confines of his own mind, trapped with the paralyzing screams of his loved ones and smell of burning flesh. But at last he'd been freed and now it was time for retribution. But he could not do this alone. No, he needed the only family he had left. _

_A lump rose in his throat at the thought of his sweet but sassy niece and stubborn but innocent nephew. Laura and Derek had been so young when they fled and he could do nothing to protect them after. By some stroke of luck they'd managed to survive on their own, but there was strength in numbers, especially a family. The thought of his family returning to him made him smile if only for a moment. His muscles still weren't used to the movement associated with various facial expressions. _

_A branch snapped and he spun around nervously. It wouldn't do to be attacked in his weak state by a hunter. But last he'd heard the hunters had abandoned Beacon Hills soon after the fire. He bit his lip, straining to hear or see his attacker. And then she stepped from between the trees. His niece stepped into the moonlight, her bottom lip quivering. _

_Laura had grown a lot in the past seven years. Her eyes were bright green, hair as dark and luscious as fine mahogany, lips perfect and full. She wore black jeans and a plain white tank top, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She stood about five foot six, the tallest female in the family. It broke his heart how she looked so much like her mother in beauty, but in many ways she looked older than her twenties. Wrinkles creased her lovely face as if she had frowned her whole life._

"_Uncle Peter!" she gasped, eyes growing wide. She took a hesitant step forward before pausing. "How-How?" her voice broke. _

_Peter reached out to her but did not leave his perch. His legs wobbled beneath him. "I knew you would understand the signs…I knew you would come…" his vision was beginning to blur. How long had he been here? How much longer could he withstand without the human medicine? _

_Laura saw his discomfort and came forward, supporting him. "Of course I came Uncle. What has happened? What can I do?" She searched his eyes for something, and he wasn't sure if she found it. _

"_Laura I am healing. You, Derek and I need to regroup and avenge our family. Those monsters need to pay for what they did." He held her gaze, but something flashed in her eyes. It made him frown. Was that fear in her eyes? Anger? _

"_Uncle…I don't think that's a good idea at all. We-we've just settled in New York. We have a life and we're happy. Nothing good will come of going after those hunters…" she shook her head. _

_Peter scowled at her. "Laura don't you understand? They'll never let us live in peace! We need to end them like they tried to end us!" His heart was thudding loudly against his ribcage. _

_Her eyes flashed red and she stepped back from him. "No, we won't go after them. The point is they didn't end us and I am not hand delivering my baby brother on a platter for them. We have survived for seven years without incident. Please uncle see reason." _

_But he said nothing. He only stared at her pulsing red irises of his dear niece, the truth and fear forcing his head to bow. His little Laura was an alpha. Of course she wouldn't agree to his whims. Her maternal and alpha instincts were too strong; she'd never bring Derek into battle. His wolf growled at the injustice of it all. _

"_I do see reason Laura! You're an alpha now. You have strength and power they can't imagine. With training you can destroy them-"_

_She cut him with a vicious snarl. "I said No! We will not fight uncle. If you want to destroy yourself then go ahead, but my brother and I will not play your game." A tear leaked out of the corner of her eye and the red bled out until only her gorgeous green eyes were staring at him accusingly. He felt ashamed for pushing her. The girl was still traumatized, had still not fully come to terms with what had happened. _

_A sharp pain shot through his side and he grunted. Worry creased her brow and he smiled wanly at her. "It's okay, just my body trying to heal itself. I apologize Laura, I understand your point." _

_She hesitated and rested a cool palm against his side. At her touch the pain began to ebb, but she broke out into a cold sweat, her body shivering. Peter grabbed her wrist. "Laura…" he warned. He knew the technique, but he also knew the damage it could do. His injuries were far worse than physical, and the mental would kill the girl. _

_She screwed up her face in concentration, a sob slipping from between her teeth. "Let me do this. Please." _

_She should have run when he warned her, she should have listened. He was tasting her power, and his wolf was drunk on it. His wolf craved the taste of the alpha, desired the elixir. It was too late to reign in the terrible power. With Laura distracted trying to help heal him it was only a matter of slamming a well placed fist to the back of the child's neck. She dropped to her knees, her green eyes looking up at him fearfully. His wolf pounced on the innocent girl, tearing at her flesh in earnest, breaking every bone in her body. And then he slashed her throat and was able to come back to his senses. _

_Laura did not speak, just stared up at him blankly, her eyes filled with sadness and accusation. A glassy shine crept over the beautiful eyes. Peter looked at his hands, covered in her dark blood, a scream of terror and remorse gurgling within him. What had he done? What had he done?! _

He staggered backward at the force of the memory. He swallowed bile and salty tears, trying to control himself. It had been done and there was nothing he could do to remedy his actions now besides protect his nephew. But with what he had just done, there was little chance of that.

His ears twitched and he whipped around, dread building up inside of him. Just one hundred meters to his left they came crashing through the trees. Derek was at the head, eyes burning red and canines extended; Lydia and Scott were to his immediate flanks, both murdering him with their eyes and snarling angrily; Erica and Boyd were right behind them, looking equally as dangerous. Peter didn't even raise his hands to defend himself.

Derek slammed into him with such force his robs splintered. His back hit the ground hard and he gasped in pain. His wolf was furious, but he swallowed it down. He had done this to himself; he deserved this. His nephew slammed fist after fist into his skull while the other betas held him down none too gently. Lydia was meticulously snapping his bones down to the marrow, pounding them into fine powder. Scott was sinking his teeth into him repeatedly, his teeth sharp and unforgiving.

Suddenly Derek's fists stopped flying and instead a hand closed around his windpipe. Peter blinked the blood from his eyes and looked up at his nephew. It was all there etched in them; betrayal. "Where is Allison Peter? What did you do to her?!" he demanded.

Peter closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't know. I swear I didn't kill or harm her."

A shoe collided with the side of his head and suddenly Boyd and Erica were trying to hold Scott back. The young betas eyes were murderous. "You monster! She didn't do anything to you! What did you do to her?!"

Derek grabbed his collar and jerked him roughly to his feet. "You did something. We felt her fear, we heard her call for help. Now where is she?" His nephew's voice was wavering slightly, but his eyes were as cold and steady as steel.

"I honestly don't know. But Derek I can explain, please give me a chance." he plead. There was much he had to discuss and it was urgent that Derek understood all that he had been doing on his travels. There would be time to find Allison. Peter swallowed, feeling another pang of guilt. Something didn't feel right about her disappearing like that, but then again, the girl was a trained huntress; she could fend for herself.

Derek seemed uncertain about what to do, but after a drawn out tense pause his claws unfurled from the collar of Peter's shirt. "This better be good. You have ten minutes."

* * *

_Stiles' POV_

Peter Freaking Creeper Slash Backstabbing Hale was an alpha. Fucking perfect. He'd known something was wrong when Derek had tensed around him and leapt from his bed, eyes wild. Stiles had been fearful for a brief moment before he registered that something had happened. He slid off of the mattress and made to follow the alpha from the room when the man spun around frantically.

"_No Stiles you cannot leave this room. Promise me you won't leave." He gently pushed him back to the bed and turned on heel again. Stiles reached out and caught his sleeve. _

"_Derek what's happening?" his voice jumped an octave. Was someone attacking them? Had the hunters returned for Jackson? _

_His boyfriend gripped his arms tightly looking him directly in the eyes. "Allison's in trouble…a werewolf is here, an alpha." He then released him and darted from the room._

And now as he sat across from the red eyed psychopath Stiles felt his blood run cold. Intellectually he knew that Peter could not touch him because he sat between Isaac and Danny and Scott was slightly in front of him; but the man was dangerous. Lydia and Jackson had escorted Iris home and Erica and Boyd were standing at the ready on Derek's flanks.

Derek leaned forward, hands gripping the wooden table so hard it groaned underneath him.

"How?" he snapped. There was little need to elaborate. They all wanted to know who he'd murdered this time to become alpha, but then again Stiles didn't want to know.

Peter ran a hand over his badly bruised face. "After I left I went in search of Gerard. I never once believed that he was dead, but we had more pressing issues at hand so soon after he disappeared. I went in search of hunter clans that I knew would side with him without asking questions. There was no one in California that weren't allied with Christopher Argent, but I went farther. I visited New York and DC, hoping to find something and I did. I found a well known family burned to death in a house fire. It just so happened that one of the children was a student of Gerard's archery "academy". But the police knew nothing, only of the five children the couple had. They didn't know that the family had another child. There was nothing to find, so I knew that this girl had probably escaped with Gerard somehow.

Soon after I discovered that Agents still lived in the area…" his voice trailed off and Peter dropped his gaze from Derek's.

Derek slammed a furious hand on the table. "Peter!" he barked sharply. His nostrils flared and Stiles reached out instinctively, catching his sleeves. Derek relaxed slightly under his touch.

Peter watched the exchange and Stiles swore he saw something in the look, perhaps longing. "The Argents were Kate's son and husband. I watched them for weeks and there was no sign that Gerard had any contact with either of them. And one day the son disappeared, the father soon after. I followed the father as far as Colorado when I ran into a group of omegas. They were trying to take over the territory from a relatively young alpha with a large pack. I offered to help. We waited until the full moon and attacked the pack. I was shocked to discover the alpha was a small boy, probably no older than ten…"

Stiles' heart stopped. He'd known Peter was a monster, but even he had to have boundaries. How could he murder a kid in cold blood? As if reading his mind the man chuckled, now staring at him. "It hurts Stiles that you would think so little of me. I did not kill the child. One of the omegas killed him and I killed that omega. That poor boy died in my arms. I tried to save him but there was nothing I could do. I became alpha of that pack and the surviving omegas joined us. And here we are."

Derek stood so suddenly Stiles almost fell out of his seat. "You brought outside wolves here?! Are you insane? You have put every human in this town at risk."

The man shook his head and stood to his feet furiously. "The only ones in danger here are you and your pack. The hunters have declared war on werewolves. That means that every wolf whether man, woman, or child will be put to death. The best hunters from all over the United States are coming here to eradicate us all! I brought a pack because we have to fight. They will not show mercy to us."

"Who then Peter? Who ordered the attack?" Derek was shaking, trying to hold back the wolf. Stiles flinched against Isaac.

Peter looked again at Stiles, his voice ringing in his temple. "Gerard Argent."

* * *

**To be continued**

**Author's Notes: I had to get this chapter out quickly before I lost the inspiration. I think I took a major risk trying to reenact the events of Laura's death, but I seriously can't believe that Peter was in his right mind when he killed her. I honestly think it was an accident and now he suffers for it. Anyway, review and tell me what you think. **


	20. Reunions and Blood Part 2

_Gerard's POV_

Life was a game of chess. Whether a person was aware of it or not, there was always an opponent, always an alternate choice. Inevitably there were pawns, and then there were the knights, bishops, and rooks. And standing at the head were the king and queen. The queen was often seen as the strongest player on the board, but she in and of herself was the weakest. The king was where the true power lay. The king only needed to move once or twice and he could ultimately dominate the board. The players moved to compensate him, forgetting the soldiers lined up to destroy them. In essence, the queen was as useless as a pawn. And he, Gerard, happened to be the best damn king of them all.

The pieces were lining up just as he'd hoped. Soon he'd taste sweet retribution and the town of Beacon Hills would cower under his hand. His soldiers were slowly flowing into the state, bringing with them the severed heads of the monsters they'd killed. In a week's time he would be eternal, and a force to be reckoned with.

There had been mistakes made before. He'd been under the assumption that his son would stand by him, but the weak fool had betrayed them. And then there had been his granddaughter, caught in the middle of a war. She could still be useful if he twisted her just right. Something of course would have to be done about Scott McCall. The boy was too smart for his own good, had turned Gerard into the half dead beast he was at that moment. He would kill McCall without hesitation the first chance he got, a slow and excruciating end would suffice. There was also the issue of letting the Stilinski kid live. He should have killed him at the warehouse when the others were distracted, but he'd needed to escape. The kid was trouble and tended to figure things out too quickly. It was a wonder he hadn't already put together his little game. Jackson was as good as dead anyway, there was no need for him anymore.

This time, he knew exactly how to attack Hale and his pack. It all began with their hearts. In a few short days they would attack and the pack would crumble. Hale would beg for mercy after watching his betas destruction. It would be effortless.

Allison stirred behind him, moaning softly. He ignored the girl and continued to sharpen and clean his weapons. He really didn't see a need in killing his granddaughter; she was resilient and under his watchful eye she would be as dangerous as Kate had been. Maybe he'd have her kill Scott. Hopefully the girl would see sense and join him, but if she didn't…well, this was a cutthroat business. After all, it was no incident that dear Victoria happened to be at the school to see McCall with her daughter. Oh yes, Victoria had not been happy with his presence….and now she didn't have to deal with him again.

There was a soft knock at his door. He continued his work. "Come in." he rasped. He heard the door squeak open and looked over his shoulder at his visitor. A genuine smile crossed his lips. The frosty blue eyes lit up as they fell on him, the young teen running a nervous hand through her snow white hair. "Good evening Erin."

The girl knelt beside him, grasping his sickly hand between her soft ones and delicately kissing his hand. "I came as soon as I heard. The wolf attacked her?" Erin looked over her shoulder worriedly at Allison.

A cruel smile twisted his lips, which he hurriedly hid with feigned sadness. "I'm afraid he did much worse than that. They have manipulated her into believing that they are domestic creatures. Obviously we know the truth."

A dark shadow crossed the girl's face. "Of course. When may we attack? We are ready any time."

He lay a hand on her head, smoothing her hair down against her head. "My pet…there is one more little thing you must do first."

"Anything." She breathed desperately. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to hide his grin. By far, she was his favorite pawn. It had been a matter of simple manipulation to convince her to murder her whole family and then Jackson Whitmore's family.

"We are entering the last few minutes of the championship game. As a coach I only call my best to the field. The others get the bench…permanently."

Realization reached her eyes and she nodded. "I understand." She stood and glided to the door, pausing only to plant a small peck on Allison's unconscious forehead.

"Oh, and Erin?" he called over his shoulder. She paused, door slightly ajar. "Young Gabriel will be in the final game."

A pause and then she whispered. "Of course…" and then the door closed with a snap. Gerard sighed, set down his weapon and reached for a glass of brandy. Leaning back in his recliner, eyes watching Allison's still form, he contemplated how best to deliver the bosies of the wolves, one piece at a time...

* * *

_Chris POV_

_Seventeen years ago he'd been blessed with a daughter. She was as beautiful as the sunrise, with a pink face and tiny hands. Already she had thick black hair curled atop her head. Victoria held the newborn to her bosom, a drowsy smile on her face. Allison, his little Allie…._

_Six years later he strapped the helmet into place snuggly. The girl bounced up and down excitedly, grinning wide despite two of her teeth missing. Her wide eyes were glued to the hot pink bicycle at the end of the driveway, anticipation glistening in them. Admittedly he was scared shitless. Was she ready for such freedom? Perhaps another year or two and then she'll be ready. Allison reached up and pulled on his hair impatiently. He looked into her chocolate eyes and saw her fierce determination. Allison, his little Allie…_

_She grunted and let an arrow fly. It zipped through the air, thwacking against the truck of the tree. Delight and surprise lit up her face. She jumped into the air, pumping it with her fist. And then she turned to him and danced into his arms. "Daddy I did it! Did you see?! Daddy!" her voice squeaked in his ear. He rubbed her back, unable to swallow the prideful balloon swelling in his chest. A man in a suit came over, handing over the golden medal which Allison proudly placed over his head. "You deserve this more than me." Allison, his little Allie…_

_His hands gripped the seat until his knuckles turned white. Allison was beside him, hands rigid on the wheel, face screwed in concentration. He was sweating but refused to take the wheel from the young teen. She looked over at him for a brief second, and consequently had to swerve out of the way of an oncoming vehicle. And yes his life flashed before his eyes. He heard a startled whine and looked over at her. Her bottom lip was quivering and she was blinking rapidly. He reached over and gently squeezed her shoulder. "Take a deep breath. You're doing fine." She smiled gratefully. Allison, his little Allie…_

Was gone. She was gone. His hands were shaking violently, the half empty bottle in his hand sloshing around loudly. After everything, after doing anything to keep her safe she was gone. Stolen from him in the course of a day. He took another swig of the liquor, the burning in his throat nothing in comparison to the inferno in his heart. He just kept seeing his sweet little girl…

No one said anything. Derek and the sheriff were speaking in low voices in the living room, trying to figure out how to find his daughter. Stiles, Lydia, and Scott sat in a dazed huddle, holding each other. They of course were hurt the most of the pack of teenagers. They had been his daughter's best friends, confidents. The other teens were sitting as far from him as possible, eyes distrustful. He didn't care at that point. His very existence had been stolen, what else could matter?

He slammed the near empty bottle on the table furiously, startling everyone in the room. The silence that followed was thick with tension, and he could only stare at the old wooden table accusingly. This had all began when they'd moved there. When he, Christopher Argent the powerful hunter had decided to end the werewolf threat. All he'd had to do was stay away, and his daughter would never have been caught in the crossfire. At this very moment she could be out with normal friends, a normal boyfriend at the movies or other teen hangouts; but instead she was fighting for her life against a person who was never supposed to hurt her. His blood ran ice cold at the thought.

"How long has she been gone?" he whispered without looking up to the room in general. His fists clenched and unclenched. It didn't matter how many weapons he owned, or how quickly he could take down a monster. In the end he couldn't protect or save those he really loved. First it had been Kate, but that fateful day when he'd lost her happened long before her actual death…

_The sky was pitch black, not a single star dotting the blanket of black clouds overhead. The temperature was steadily dropping, but that had played to their advantage. He stood over a young female, weapon poised to kill at any moment. He was bouncing with exhilaration and pride, knowing that it had been his arrow that had brought them to this moment. The first hunt was always the best, always the symbol of the hunter one would become. For weeks now he'd been preparing. He'd ran until his heel and ankles fractured; he'd fought the biggest thug his father controlled until he'd succeeded in beating the bastard; he'd shot arrow after arrow, fired gun after gun until the weapons themselves became a part of his body. Most importantly, he'd become versed in almost all of the Code and bestiary. This was his moment to please his father and everyone. _

_The young female twitched and her head swiveled to face him. For the first time he saw her "human" face. She had cream colored skin that looked deathly pale in the night, large navy blue almond shaped eyes, and dirty blond curls that hung down her back. He stared at the girl, their eyes feuding. Something about this girl was familiar, as if she had walked out of dreams…but he couldn't place her lovely face. She seemed to be pleading with him silently, begging for her life. He swallowed the sudden unease and bile that rose in his throat and raised his gun towards her head. The girl's eyes smoldered and she closed them in defeat. She hung her head, perhaps to pray, perhaps to simply erase his face from her conscious. He would never know. _

_Kate stepped up behind him, a hand clasped on his shoulder. She leaned over his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. "Oh my, Johanna Clark?" her voice was soft but edged with delight. _

_Chris, startled, looked more closely at the girl. She looked up at him and fixed him again with that heart stopping penetrating stare. Johanna had been Kate's best friend- and incidentally his first crush- until the two had had a falling out of sorts. He'd never gotten the full story. Perhaps this was the reason. But Johanna a werewolf? How? Why? Suddenly the weapon felt alien to him, dangerous and uncontrollable. _

_Kate patted his shoulder, that smile locked firmly in place. "Didn't I tell you baby brother? She really is a monster." _

_Johanna looked close to tears. "Kate please…" she half sobbed. Chris felt himself shaking slightly. This…this was foreign to him. He'd never heard of this, ever. What was he supposed to do? They knew this girl, knew her family, and were even friends. He looked at his older sister._

"_What do I do?" he whispered knowing full well that Johanna could hear him. _

_His sister didn't even acknowledge him. Her eyes were locked with Johanna's. "I warned you Johanna that I would let you go only once. I didn't turn you over to my father because you were my friend. But you recently killed someone. That is unforgiveable." _

_Johanna shook her head vehemently. "Kate it wasn't me! I swear to you it was a set up. I would never kill Abby. Never! Please Kate, please!" the girl begged. _

_Chris remembered hearing about Kate's other friend Anna being found butchered nearly on the edge of town. His legs felt wobbly. Kate silently stepped around him, holding a small pistol to the teen's forehead. And he could only watch in frozen terror and listen to the girls half silent cries for mercy…mercy that never came…_

Their relationship had never been the same since that night. He remembered the days that followed when she pretended to be a distraught best friend before the cameras, even attempted to get a search party started. He remembered how at night she would laugh and repeatedly reenact her victory to their father and watching guests. He remembered her cold laughter when he'd asked her did she regret it, and her bone chilling answer. _"I'd do it again if I could…only I'd draw it out, see how long it'd take for her admit what she'd done." _ A body was never found, but that was normally how it was when it came to wolves.

He was suddenly aware of voices near him, speaking to him and he fought through his drunken fog to try to listen. The sheriff had somehow taken the liquor from his hands without his notice and was staring at him sternly.

"Christopher pull yourself together. Doing this isn't going to help Allison now." His voice was soft, but steely.

He wasn't having that. "How would you know what would help her? Your son is sitting right there, completely safe!" He slammed a fist hard on the table, shaking it.

The sheriff kept his demeanor calm. "A few months he wasn't. A few months ago I didn't know what the hell was going on in this town and my boy was constantly caught in the middle. That night on the lacrosse field when I called out to him and he never answered was the worst of my life. I know what it is like, and drinking yourself under isn't going to help her."

Chris glared at the sheriff, knowing he was right, but the liquor was clouding his judgment. He wanted to be angry at someone, anyone. So he turned to Derek. "Where were you in all of this? What could you have possibly been doing that hindered you from paying attention to your uncle trying to kill my daughter?"

Derek said nothing, but Chris noticed the subtle change in his stance. He crossed his arms over his chest, but it didn't hide the quick shift of his eyes to the three huddled teenagers. He seemed to have semiconsciously gravitated towards them. Chris turned from him, not wanting to take his rage out on someone who didn't deserve it.

Again, there was a tense silence, everyone simply waiting for…well, Chris didn't even know anymore. He didn't know. Finally, Stiles spoke, though his voice sounded detached. "We need to talk to Gabriel. He may be the only one who can help us find her. If he really cares about Allison like you say, then we can convince him to help us rescue her from…" his voice trailed off and he was staring at the floor in silence. Chris watched his jaw working, his back tense, fists clenching at his sides, eyes seeing some invisible horror. Derek's head snapped up at once and he moved briskly to the boy's side, guiding him from the room. Chris watched them leave, understanding dawning on him. Apparently some scars were more mental than physical.

* * *

_Derek's POV_

Stiles doubled over, dry heaving as soon as they stepped into the autumn night. His chest heaved as he greedily sucked in the cool air, his body visibly shaking as he exhaled. Salty tears pricked at his eyes, but refused to spill over. Venomous memories attacked him, mercilessly plaguing him with invisible demons he'd kept locked within him for so long. And for all of his strengths, all of his abilities, all of his power, he was useless. He couldn't protect Stiles from those invisible demons. He couldn't fight them, couldn't drive them away with claws and teeth. He could only watch in anguished silence as they tormented his mate.

Unable to stand it any longer, he walked over to the boy and lightly touched his shoulder. Stiles jumped and wheeled on him, eyes wide with fear. He stumbled back and Derek reached out to catch him before he could fall. And that's when he noticed the odd, glassy expression of frozen horror on the teen's face, smell the fear and panic engulf him; he was having a panic attack. Reacting quickly, Derek pulled the boy against him, but something was wrong, Stiles was fighting his grip.

The boy's fingernails dug into his skin, drawing blood as he fought to escape. His eyes were wild and unseeing, as if he were trapped in a nightmare. "Stiles, it's me. Listen to my voice. It's Derek, Stiles."

Stiles paused for a minute, panting and eyes clouding over uncertainly. "D-Derek?" he whispered shakily. He trembled against his body and Derek locked his arms securely around his middle to support him.

"Yes it's me. Pull out of this Stiles, I know you can." He spoke softly, trying to hold the boy's gaze. He heard the frantic heartbeat thump faster, his breathing pick up speed.

"D-Derek make it stop. Stop it…stop it!" he cried out, immediately trying to fight his way out again.

Derek growled and shook him sharply. "Stiles snap out of it! Listen to me, you are fine! You are not in danger."

That seemed to have the desired effect. Stiles continued to shake next to him, but his heart rate gradually slowed, his breathing more even. The glassy stare leaked from his eyes and he was staring coherently at Derek shamefully. He slowly rested his head against his chest, holding him tightly. Derek sighed and ran a hand through the boy's hair, nuzzling against his neck gently. Their hearts thrummed together for some time, and they held each other in silence.

Derek trained his ears on the others inside of the Argent home. Chris was drunkenly telling them all he could about other hunter clans in their area, as well as those he'd met since he was a child; the sheriff was scribbling his observations as well as asking pointed questions; the betas were on the edge of their seats, torn between coming outside and listening to the information intently. "Stay there. He's fine now." He murmured so low Stiles could not possibly hear, but the others surely did.

Finally Stiles spoke, but his voice sounded so small and broken it drove a stake through his chest. "I'm sorry I acted like that. I-I just…." His voice trailed off and he avoided his gaze.

Derek grabbed his chin and tilted it up so that he could look into the sad doe like eyes. "Do not apologize. You're just stressed and afraid; it's not your fault." He swallowed his anger, knowing his temper would not help issues. Why did it always have to be this way between them? Why were both so damaged that they couldn't be in the other's company without breaking down? Just hours ago they'd lain together, talking about his family, a subject he hadn't approached in years…

"_Tell me something about when you were younger. Anything." Stiles said in the silence, his voice echoing in the house. Derek closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. He wasn't so sure how he felt talking about his dead family anymore than Stiles liked talking about his mom. He feared that once he told his most sacred memories they'd disappear. But this was Stiles, and the boy was his life now; if he couldn't tell him then who could he tell? _

"_I was the youngest of seven children, but the direct middle child when it came to the whole family. I don't remember much about my oldest siblings except that they were cruel to us smaller ones. I was the runt of the kids, but Laura always protected me. Growing up we were closer than siblings could possibly be. Eventually, the only children that officially lived at home were Laura, Kendra, Tony, and I. The four of us did everything together, had all even moved into the same room to sleep together. On warm nights we'd sneak outside and play hide and seek, but I swear my mother just let us think we'd snuck out. When we were old enough Dad took us out to hunt game and run with the others on nights of the full moon…but I was the worst. I couldn't control myself half the time._

"_I remember the first time I ever shifted," he continued loftily, "My family and I were on vacation near the rapids, but my father forbid us from going near them. Naturally, Tony and I snuck away to see them. We were playing and somehow ended up fighting. Tony pushed me and I fell into the water." He shivered, remembering the ice that shot up his spine. He could still hear the hungry roar of the water as it dragged him away, whipping his body against rocks like a rag doll. "I did everything to stay above the water, but it got harder and harder. And then the water threw me against these rocks and…I felt this heat rise inside of me. Suddenly everything was bathed in gray and my gums hurt like hell. I cried out for my mother, but it came out like a howl. That scared me even more. I had no idea what was going on…" he paused and shot Stiles an annoyed look. "What is so funny?" he demanded. _

_Stiles was shaking with laughter. He snorted and rolled away from him, clutching his stomach. "I can't believe this! You had no idea you were a werewolf?! Dude I figured out what Scott was before he did." _

_Derek's cheeks flamed red. "Don't judge me! No one expected me to be a wolf because I was premature and too small. Of course I knew what werewolves we-" _

_But Stiles was still grinning mischievously and laughing. Derek growled and rolled until he was supporting his body over Stiles'. The boy froze, watching him carefully. Suddenly he was struck with an idea and before he could change his mind Derek leaned forward and pressed their lips together. He wasn't gentle this time, softly biting on the supple flesh, hungrily devouring the boy's mouth. Stiles hesitated, then wrapped his arms around Derek's neck, returning it. _

_Derek moved from his mouth, nipping and kissing along his jaw line and neck. He held the boy's wrists and pinned them down while he gently bit at Stiles' neck. The boy gasped at the sensation and wriggled beneath him. "Oh my…" he squeaked before Derek smashed their lips together again. He smiled to himself, sensing his plan was working just fine. And then he pulled back suddenly, rolling away. _

_Stiles sputtered and looked at him incredulously. "Dude why'd you stop? I was enjoying that!" _

_Derek chuckled and lay back against his pillow, tucking his arms behind his head. "I can see that." He laughed again when the teen's cheeks flushed bright red. _

"_You are evil, you know that? Plain evil. You can't just do that to someone." He pouted and plopped back on his own pillow. _

_Derek looked at him out of the corner of his eye, a smile on his lips. "You'll get over it. Now can I finish my story?"_

Derek squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. Just when things were going right, something had to hit the fan. For once, he'd just like to enjoy what he had, or more specifically who he had. His family was dead, and at the rate things were going his current family would be too. Bile rose in his throat. He looked down at his mate who clung to him for dear life and saw red. How many times had Stiles needed him and he hadn't been there? How many times had the others needed him? They needed to know they could trust him with their lives, secrets, and fears.

He tilted Stiles' chin up and looked into his eyes. "Stiles, I promise you, nothing will happen to you. Those hunters will never touch any of you. We will get Allison back."

Stiles nodded and pushed out his arms, turning towards the house again. Derek reached out and caught his shoulder. He spun him around, but he wouldn't look at him. They stood in tense silence for a minute, and then the boy spoke. "Derek…I'm scared. I thought I could handle this but I- I don't know anymore." He looked up at him pleadingly. "I know there isn't much I can really do to help, but I want to…. Derek give me the Bite. I want it."

Derek released him and took a step back, shaking his head. "I'm sorry but no."

Stiles glared at him furiously, jaw tight. "Why the Hell not? Every other teenager in this town is practically part of the pack. If I'm a wolf I can actually do some good-"

"You don't want the bite Stiles. You just think you do. You shouldn't rush into decisions like this under pressure. You only want it because you're scared and-"

"Hell yeah I'm scared. I'm tired of being used as a play thing for every guy who's got a beef with the pack. I'm tired of knocking on Death's door and dealing with the repercussions. Because you can't protect me from what has happened in the past. You can't erase the memories. I-I don't want to end up like I was months ago. I don't-"

Derek cupped his face in his hands, eyes burning red. "Stiles please listen to me. I know you're afraid, but you have to trust me. I will never let them hurt you. Never again…I won't let you get hurt ever again."

* * *

_Erin's POV_

She was God. It was to her feet they bowed. It was to her they sacrificed. It was to her they gave their lives. The low came humbly and the mighty came broken. She was just in her choices and powerful. A force deadlier than Death himself. Blood from Hell ran though her veins, a heart of coal pumped it.

She was God. She held their lives within her grasp, ready to crush at any moment. And the moment had come. They had worn out their use and it was time to call them home. She had done it before; it was an easy feat. It only took a few well measured ounces of Kanima venom in their food to drug them, and then the wait. One by one she'd watched them slump forward at the dinner table, their eyes swiveling around in fear, bodies frozen.

She stood, pulling a silver blade from her pocket. If they could talk, they'd scream now. She started with Liam. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and jerked his head back, exposing the white of his neck. She leaned close, her face just next to his ear. "It's nothing personal darling. Just business." And then she pressed the blade to his throat and sliced from ear to ear. The sound of steel slicing through flesh was arousing, but nearly as arousing as the sight of his dark blood spilling onto the table.

She stood and moved to each boy, repeating the process again and again. It felt great. And once the deed was done, she stripped out of her clothes and poured the gasoline over the bodies and around the apartment. She'd already packed some things for her and Gabriel, only the essentials. She stepped into the cool night, and with a large grin, threw the match into the house, watching the flames catch.

She ran to the jeep, though she didn't pull away just yet. She watched, heart beating excitedly as the surrounding homes caught fire; she loved the terrified screams of those that ran out with anything worth saving. And then she heard the sirens and pulled away, picking up her phone and sending Gabriel a text. She laughed into the night. The stupid boy would never know how his friends had died, just that a fire broke out in the apartment building. She only wished he could have been in it, though unlike the others, he would have been alive…

* * *

**Author's Notes: Yeah sorry it's being posted late, but it's been finished since Monday. I've just been so busy with testing at school that I didn't have time to post it. But again, I just want feedback like I've been receiving and I really hope I'm pleasing everyone. **


	21. Spark

_Sheriff's POV- October 23_

The smell of smoke hung thickly in the air. The sky was dark gray, the sun unable to penetrate the dense clouds. Not a bird sang, not a dog barked; the animals could smell death just as clearly as any human. Crescent Hall was one of the quaint, luxurious neighborhoods of Beacon Hills. The houses and small apartment complex were neat and well cared for. The lawns were a rich evergreen even in the midst of autumn and winter; the trees were always groomed; the hedges that lined the perfectly painted fences were always trimmed; the roofs were all shingled; and not a yard was without a tiny garden of sorts. This was a place where children road their bicycles freely, hands and faces sticky with sweets. This was a neighborhood where doors remained unlocked through the night, where neighbors had keys to houses. He'd never had to come out…until today.

Just from his position in the patrol car, John could clearly see the shell of the Crescent Hall Apartments, charred rubble littering the ground at its feet. A fire truck was parked just on the curb, its hoses still connected to the fire hydrant spraying at the last few flickers of flames. Hilary and a few other deputies had already stretched the bright yellow crime scene tape around the dilapidated building and were gathered in a somber huddle on the curb. A small crowd of civilians had begun to form, whether curious gossip mongers or concerned citizens, he didn't know or care. The Medical Examiner's van was there, the middle aged woman and her assistant staring at the scene with placid faces. Death was no stranger to their eyes.

John sighed, unable to remain in his vehicle any longer scoping out the details. He stepped out into the morning the air stung at his eyes. He coughed and paused to recollect himself. A few people were murmuring now and pointing in his direction. He tipped his head in acknowledgement before turning to the grim scene ahead of him. _What is your story?_ He wondered. Now that he was in the loop of all things supernatural he couldn't help but question the crimes he dealt with. Was this a product of the "war" between the wolves and hunters? He certainly hoped not, for if anyone innocent had died the hunters would hang.

He walked over to his deputies, motioning for the M.E and fire fighter chief to follow. Hilary perked up and nearly ran to him, swinging her arms around his neck. He was startled, but returned the gesture. The other deputies watched with amused expressions which he shook off; now was not the time to discuss interrelations in the sheriff department. She broke off the hug, stepping back looking slightly abashed. John noted the dark circles forming beneath her eyes, the frantic jerks of her eyes as she looked around her, the frown creasing her face.

"First crime scene Hilary?" he asked so that only they could hear. There was no reason to put the girl on the spot in front of other seasoned cops. She nodded gently, eyes sweeping back to the shell of a building, a shiver racing up her spine.

"The call came in early this morning at around five thirty am. Jones and I were the first to arrive on scene, but the fire was out of control. The firemen came around seconds after we did, but they only just got the flames under control when we called you about seven fifteen. We haven't approached anything yet; we wanted you to lead."

John took in the brief information, his eyes drawn to the crowd. He gestured to them before turning back to his crew. "Do any of those people live in this building?"

Jones spoke up. "A young woman and her two sons, just there behind the crowd. They're the ones who called I believe. The others scattered or…" his voice trailed off eyes landing on the smoking apartment building. John hoped they'd scattered.

"Okay, take them to the hospital to be examined, and then I want them questioned individually. I need to know if they heard or saw anything suspicious." He sighed, eyeing the two small boys and imagining the brutal repercussions this fire would have on them. He imagined Derek Hale and all that had changed about him. Had these young boys lost friends? Loved ones?

"You think it was arson? How can you tell?" the deputy asked skeptically. John wished he could answer that question himself, but all he knew was his gut instinct, and right now it was screaming arson. Sadly, instinct wasn't enough to go on.

"Just covering all the bases. Now get on it before a reporter gets to them or something." The deputy nodded and walked briskly to the woman. The sheriff watched him leave before turning back to the others. "As for the rest of you. Tonkin, Wallace, I need the both of you to track down any and all people who lived in these homes; they all need to be pulled in for questioning. Chuck, Harry, I want you to comb through this scene with a fine toothed comb; anything and everything is possible evidence. Hilary, you, Ms. Carmichael, Mr. Hugh, and the fire chief are with me."

The team nodded and broke off to accomplish their given tasks. The sheriff pulled on gloves and shoe covers so as not to damage any potential evidence as they approached the carnage. The fire chief was taking the lead, pointing out the safest path for them to follow and weak points in the structure. Hilary paused to take snap shots, labeling each and stowing it away in a special forensic kit. They pulled masks over their mouths and nose; the burnt wood had begun to burn at their throats.

Finally they stopped outside of an apartment charred so horribly the ceiling looked as if it would cave in. The door was completely gone, the mouth of the apartment gapping open in a horrid scream of agony. _This was where it began_, he thought to himself. If there were any clues as to what happened, it would be here.

The fire chief held his arm out, cautioning them. "From here on out we proceed with absolute caution. If I say get out you haul ass out of here. Understood?" They all nodded, identical masks of determination on their faces.

The chief stepped in first, the M.E and her assistant following behind. Hilary paused at the threshold, unsure about entering. John remembered his first day on the job, his first official crime scene. Television had glorified the life of a cop, crafting it into a world he thirsted to be a part of. But when he starred down the barrel of the gun and into the cold eyes of a murderer he realized how very wrong he was. He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, squeezing slightly. She turned to look at him, bottom lip trembling slightly. He swallowed, focusing only on her vulnerable eyes. He used his to convey what they could never say in public, let his touch ease her discomfort.

She smiled graciously and stepped into the void of darkness, soot billowing at her feet as she walked. John had one foot inside of the doorway when he suddenly felt cold. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up and his gut was twisting uncomfortably. He was being watched. He looked over his shoulder, eyes sweeping the crowd of spectators. A few were looking at him, but there was one particular pair of eyes he was searching for. He spotted it suddenly, just at the edge of the crowd, a brief flash of white. He blinked and it was gone, taking with it the eerie sensation.

Shivering, he hurried into the burned apartment, following the sound of voices to the kitchen. He immediately paused, taking in the picture before him. The fire chief and Hilary were pressed as close to the wall farthest from the table as possible; the M.E's assistant was staring at the ceiling in prayer, whispering to the Heavens; the M.E herself was already at work examining one of the bodies. There were four half charred bodies slumped over the table, their decaying flesh already peeling. The stench of death and gasoline and smoke made him retch, but he managed to hold onto the flimsy breakfast he'd choked down on his way over. _Three victims…._

"Doc, please walk me through this." His voice sounded odd to him, far away. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he knew they'd find a victim here, just like he knew this was no accident.

The M.E, Jessica Carmichael, paused in her pre-examination, wiping sweat from her brow. It was still baking in the apartment, as if the flames were invisible. Black smudges of soot smeared over her forehead and she looked at the cadavers with sad gray eyes, her lightly pink lips turned down at the corners. "These poor souls were apparently eating when the fire started. They came home after a long day, probably joked and watched television, showered, and then settled in for supper." She shook her head and went to the first body, closely examining him.

John leaned in closer, studying the hands and feet in particular. "They weren't tied down. What sane person would sit and let themselves burn to death? Why didn't they run?"

Jessica sighed and looked at him with haunted eyes. " I'm afraid they couldn't have run even if they wanted to."

He said nothing, waiting for further explanation. She didn't disappoint. Her long fingers, delicately cupped the crown of the head and chin, and she tenderly pulled it back, exposing the neck. Most of the facial features had been completely burned off, but the neck was red ad angry. Puss was leaking from the bloated body part. Her index finger delicately prodded it. "This young man's throat was sliced open, and pretty deep too. It looks as if he was almost decapitated. The vertebral, internal, and external arteries are completely severed, as well as the jugular vein. He would have bled out in minutes if he were that lucky. The poor kid never had a chance." She shook her head and lay his head back on the table.

John stared in horror at the victims, the unanswered question hanging in the air. "So all of these people were murdered before the fire. Can you tell exactly when?"

She sighed in frustration and shook her head. "The best I can offer is that they were killed only minutes, maybe twenty or thirty before the fire started, but it's difficult to nail down an exact time. Sheriff, do you notice anything about their bodies?" She gestured to the victims.

The sheriff winced as he did so, but he reached out to touch the burned body. He almost jumped back; it was cold to the touch. He looked up at her. "What the hell?"

She nodded absently. "The skin isn't receptive to temperature change. If our victim was alive, they wouldn't have felt anything."

"How can that be? What can basically freeze the nerves like that?" he was looking at them all, as if the dead could provide a suitable answer.

Jessica looked him dead in the eyes. "It is a substance that breaks down the neurotransmitters for hours, maybe days. It can cause paralysis, maybe even death if too much is ingested. Sadly, I am not familiar with the name, but we have seen this before. It is the same substance found around some scenes earlier last spring."

John's head snapped to the dead bodies, bile rising in his throat. The putrid smell of roasted, decaying flesh was suddenly overwhelming, his head suddenly spinning. He swallowed shakily, the true horrors of the crime sickening him. He could just imagine it. _They sat down, possibly_ _chattering about nothing in particular, just idle chatter. They start to eat, chewing carefully so as_ _to fully exploit the meal. After the second or third bite their faces would screw up in confusion,_ _their chew more deliberate. The question would race through all of their minds; what was off about the taste? Was it undercooked or simply spoiled? By then it would be too late. A cold numbness would creep over their muscles and flesh, freezing them forever in that moment of confusion and fear. They would no doubt try to move, to scream, but it would be futile. And then the master behind the deed would slink from the shadows, a wicked smile in place. He would force the head back, staring down into the frightened eyes of their pray while slicing his throat. They would stand there and watch their blood drip onto the table. And then they'd let the head fall with a thud to the table, moving to each person in turn. The others would be frantic at this point to escape, their blood roaring in their ears, though they know that their only escape is already sealed within the jagged blade of the knife…_

He clenched his fists, fury rising within him. Whoever this person was, they were ruthless and more dangerous than any criminal anyone else he'd ever dealt with. This person was not only a pyromaniac, but they knew of the supernatural, knew of the dark secrets of this town. Already he was running through a list of possible suspects. Dr. Deaton seemed unlikely, but all bases had to be covered; the Argents were also suspicious, though he doubted Allison or Chris had done this; the rogue hunters were a possibility, though why they would target random strangers he didn't know. What he did know was that this was technically out of his jurisdiction now; he'd have to call in the wolves.

John sighed and turned to the fire chief and Hilary, both of whom were ashen and sick looking. "Deputy, go check the progress of the others. Chief, take me through the rest of the apartment."

Hilary looked close to protesting; he understood. It was tough to be a female cop, especially a young female that looked as fresh as the morning sun. By principle she had to be more durable than the men that dominated the profession. But she was human. Her revulsion trumped her resolve and she hurried from the apartment. He watched her leave before turning and motioning to the fire chief.

The chief nodded stiffly, stepping carefully into the hallway, feeling his way through. The sheriff followed behind, eyes sweeping over anything that might be important evidence. They didn't speak, memories of the last arson/ homicide no doubt circling through their heads. The charred rubble crunched under their feet, the smell of ripe flames and murder etched in the walls and foundation. John squeezed his eyes, remembering the terrible scene the next morning, the two children that had lost everything. He could still see the dead, haunted shadow in the young boy's eyes; the cold, lifeless voice; the dejected slump of his shoulders as he was towed away by his barely legal sister. It was a memory he would carry with him to his grave.

The first two rooms weren't safe for entrance, much to John's frustration. What possible evidence was buried in the smoldering ashes? He could send Derek and the others-excluding Stiles- back to investigate later if needed. He put that on his mental to do list and moved on to the next room. Even with the damage, it was obvious the room was furnished with only the bare necessities. Something that resembled a bed frame was pressed against the eastern wall, a chest of drawers opposite it. A desk and bookshelf were on the adjacent wall. They carefully picked their way through the bedroom for anything that could offer some clue as to who lived here. They found it.

The sheriff slowly picked his way to the chest of drawers, opening each and inspecting it carefully. There were a few articles of burnt clothing, and other knick knacks. John bagged them all to be taken to the crime lab and examined for evidence; criminals always slipped and left something. The second drawer was completely empty, as though it had been stripped of its contents. John made a mental note of that as well and continued his search. He was so engrossed in his task that he was startled and thus jumped a foot in the air when the chief tapped on his shoulder. He turned to him quizzically, feeling foolish for jumping. The eerie setting was getting to him, especially since he alone knew the culprit was related to an even darker mission.

"Sheriff…I think you'd want to see this…" he gestured wordlessly towards the bed frame where a few boards had been pulled up, leaving a gaping hole in the floor. He stood and dusted his knees before walking over and peering inside. A little metal box sat in the dark ashes, charred and rusted in some places, but otherwise intact. He reached inside and carefully lifted it out, his stomach knotting. What were the odds that something important would be in here? He lifted the lid and shifted through the contents. There was really nothing but a small photo album, the picture of a smiling baby boy on the front cover. His gut twisted uncomfortably. Was he looking at the picture of a victim?

He flipped the little black book open and nearly dropped it. The first picture was a family portrait. The first thing he noticed was her luminous blonde hair and alluring green eyes. They were set in creamy white skin with only faint traces of makeup on her full lips and cheekbones. Cradled against her bosom was a laughing toddler with dark brown hair and innocent chocolate eyes. The child, which reminded him so much of Allison, clung to the woman with a small fist. Beside them stood what John could only describe as a stud. The man was physically built and had looks that brought him to shame. The Argent family smiled proudly at the camera, unaware that in a few years their lives would change forever. His thumb traced the image of Kate Argent. What had turned this young and beautiful mother into a cold blooded killer? Had it always been there lurking behind her flirtatious eyes and dazzling smile?

John closed the book with an audible snap, suddenly feeling sick and in dire need of fresh air. He excused himself and walked quickly out of the room. He passed by the kitchen, noting that two of the bodies were already zipped in body bags. He held back the bile in his throat and rushed from the apartment. The blast of autumn air was a saving grace, if only for a moment. The sun had vainly begun a battle with the embankment of clouds, a few rays breaking through every now and again. The small crowd had grown some in the time they'd been inside, a news van nestled among the sea of cop cruisers. He swallowed and stole down the stairs before he could be spotted. He need to make a phone call.

The asphalt crunched beneath his shoes as he made his way to his cruiser, grateful that it was far from the public eye. He slipped into the driver seat and took a long gulp of water. He squeezed his eyes and took steadying breaths to calm his rapid heartbeat. He'd been Sheriff for years now, had gone toe to toe with the worst humanity had to offer. But that was it wasn't it? He'd dealt with the humans, but this was a different matter entirely. In this the stakes were higher, the players deadlier and merciless. In this game he battled mythical creatures and humans who murdered innocents based on a twisted resolve that it was necessary. His fingers traced the smiling baby on the front of the photo album. Could this young boy be a monster? Or was he just a pawn in a dangerous game? John only hoped they'd be able to save him because he refused to let a child die.

Someone tapped on his glass and he looked up, startled and weary. A young albino girl stood at his window, her face screwed up in pain and distress. He rolled down the window. "What's the matter? Are you looking for someone?" The back of his neck tickled again and he suddenly felt uneasy. His instincts were telling him to call back up, drive away, and get the hell out of dodge. He shook it off. What harm could a young girl do?

She shook her head and her expression changed. Before he could even register what was happening the weapon was already pointed directly at his heart, a cruel smile twisting her lips. "Now you be a good officer and hand over that little book." She motioned to the photo album in his lap.

His mind whirred trying to figure a way to signal to his deputies, but he was too far away, too secluded. It was obvious she was somehow a part of whatever was going on. Why else would she attack the sheriff? The photo album must be important, but for what he wasn't sure. It certainly tied the Argents into this, and he was positive that this girl was not a part of that family. He needed to figure out a way to tell Chris, to tell Derek what was going on.

The girl rapped on the door roughly, her eyebrows pulling together. He looked into her pale blue eyes and slowly slid the small book to her outstretched hand. She snatched it the minute the cool leather touched her skin, tucking it safely inside a satchel or bag. Then she returned her gaze to him, a sneer marring her face. "Thank you for your cooperation Sheriff. Sorry to run off, but, I have another pit stop to make. I'll say hi to your baby boy on the way."

John dived for his gun the same time he heard the tell tale bang and his side exploded in agony. He slumped sideways, an unnatural warmth coating his fingers as he tried to staunch the blood flow. He gritted his teeth and pulled out his cell phone, dialing frantically. He answered on the first ring.

"Sheriff?" Derek asked gruffly and somewhat sleepily.

John coughed, his vision swimming and head spinning. "Derek. Get them out of that school now. I've been attacked. Get them out of there." He coughed roughly this time, trying to sit up. He flailed and crashed back onto the seats, his phone disappearing somewhere. The world above him was blurring, the light harsh and unforgiving. He heard urgent frantic voices, even the vice grip of a smooth hand on his forearm, but even that sensation was slowly slipping away. Hilary's stricken face swam into view, but he couldn't understand her shouted pleas. And then Hilary was gone, replaced with a softer touch, one he hadn't felt in years. Her gorgeous, kind face hovered over him, clear and focused. She smiled and caressed his cheek gently. "Sleep. You're home now." And he obliged. He closed his eyes, Lilliana by his side.

* * *

_Gabriel's POV_

A loud bang jolted him awake. His eyes snapped open, his heart thudding madly against his chest. He pried his face off of the window, rolling his sore neck and shoulders. His throat felt raw and his stomach ached horribly. He attempted to swallow, only to launch into a frenzy of coughs. Grief was not his friend. Though he wasn't particularly fond of any of the guys, he wasn't cruel enough to dismiss their deaths either. Erin had called him immediately after she escaped the fire, though in the confusion she'd lost the others. Something about the message itself didn't sound right, but who was he to question her? What reason could she have to kill the others? He was certain without a doubt she'd kill him however. He felt it in his gut the first time they'd met. While the others were patronizing and bullying she was always in the background watching his reactions, as if breathing them in and reading his mind. And always she wore a twisted smile that promised menace.

He jumped, startled, when Erin appeared, jerking the driver side door open and sliding into the seat. She shoved the key in the ignition and twisted it furiously, her foot stamping down on the gas. Gabriel clenched the arm rests of the seat, heart racing nearly as fast as they were driving. Erin's eyes were wide and frantic, her hands pale white against the steering wheel. They pulled onto the freeway and she slowed, though she was trembling slightly, looking over her shoulder and biting her lip.

"Erin what happened? Why are you so shaken?" He reached over and laid a gentle hand on her arm. She jerked away as if electrocuted, throwing him a disgusted look.

"I'm perfectly fine Gabriel." she spat acidly. He recoiled, eyeing her warily. She huffed in exasperation and thrust a black book at him fiercely. He reached for it and paused, eyes fixated on her hands. He swallowed, looking up to meet her eyes. She was watching him expectantly, something off in her expression. "Is something the matter?" she asked sweetly.

Gabriel leaned back, pressing his body as far against the door as possible. Erin smiled and continued to drive. He bit at his lip, looking out the window at the passing buildings. The colors blurred, churning his stomach. Erin began to whistle and the hairs on his neck stood up. It was a sweet, melodic tune that dipped and turned, ringing high in the soprano ranges. But underneath the light air was a dark rippling current of evil. He could feel there in the small confines of the car.

Finally they pulled over and she killed the engine. He waited, heart thudding loudly; he was sure she could hear its thrumming against his ribcage. She unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to him, her eyes piercing his. He gulped again, his throat suddenly scratchy. He'd never felt comfortable in her presence, even with the others around. The only word he could use to describe her would be lethal. She was a natural predator on the hunt, and he often felt like the folly.

She reached out and ran a soft hand down his face, an intrigued look on her face. She whispered something too low for him to hear, her nails skimming the supple skin just below his chin. And then her blue eyes snapped to his and he froze, paralyzed by the intense stare. "You know what I liked most about you Gabriel? Your intellect. You always seemed to figure things out better than most people. You could read people just from one encounter. I envy that." She smiled and dropped her hand from his skin. It felt as if he'd been burned. "But then again that's what I hated the most. Tell me Gabriel, what do you think of the blood on my hands? What do you think of the gun in my pocket?" and this time a cruel smile twisted her lips.

He wanted to run. His body was slowly unfreezing. She nodded satisfied and restarted the engine. "What did you do?" he whispered hoarsely.

She pulled back onto the freeway; that smile still firmly in place. "Business Gabriel. Business."

* * *

_Melissa McCall's POV_

In everything there were orders; procedures that helped things run smoothly. As a nurse she understood the delicate lives they held, and how anything not regulatory could cost them a patient. That was why she followed her job to the letter. Every bed pan was checked at the appropriate hour; every dose given at the exact moment at the correct percentage; every pillow was flushed; every record was regularly updated. Few patients had died on her watch, and she refused to lose anyone on account of her own foolhardiness. Emotions were left out of every job. It was dangerous to get attached to any patient whether stranger or friend. In a town as small as Beacon Hills it was a difficult task mind you, but they all managed.

But this time was different. This time she sat in shock beside the bed, clutching the victim's hand. This time she sat and each tick of the heart monitor reminded her of her own mortality. The suffocating smell of anesthesia and medicine hung heavy in the air. The wires and cables and cords protruding from his prone body reminded her that this was all very real and not a horrible nightmare. This time she wasn't looking into the face of a man she didn't know or an acquaintance. This time she was holding the hand of a friend she loved with all her heart.

Although she and John had never pursued a romantic relationship they coexisted as parents. John was a great man, someone she wished she had met years earlier when every mistake she made was catching up to her. He was no doubt a faithful, devout husband, someone who'd do anything without you asking; he was a loving father, always there hovering protectively and lending support. He'd been there when Scott's father decided to leave, had helped her stay on her feet the first few months after the divorce. She in turn had been there when Lilliana had died, consoling him and dragging him back from the edge for Stiles' sake. They were always good friends and that was how she saw their relationship.

And now, staring at him in this state broke her heart. John didn't deserve this. Stiles didn't deserve this. It was senseless violence and it was going to destroy them. She'd jumped the minute the call came through, ordering everyone within the nurses' station. No one questioned her. They'd wheeled him in to immediate surgery where she then slumped against the wall, contemplating how she was going to tell Stiles. The job of a cop was dangerous, but John had never been in this much danger before. Where would it end?

She sniffled and her eyes involuntarily swept over his face again. His skin was milk white, dark circles rimming his eyes. His cheeks appeared to be sunken in, sweat clung to his brow. He looked so inhuman, as if he were already dead. A shiver ran up Melissa's spine at the thought. John had always been her confident, her friend. She couldn't imagine a life without him in it. And what would Stiles do if his dad died? She remembered the first few days after she'd died. Not only had the boy run away, but he'd been admitted to the hospital for weeks. His panic attacks had almost killed him. If John died…she didn't want to think about the repercussions.

She wiped away the moisture from her cheeks and set about fluffing his pillows and adjusting his readings. The work helped her mind settle, but her hands trembled. When there was nothing more to do she sat and resumed her vigilant guard. The truth was she truly hated hospitals. She couldn't place her contempt. Was it the smell of anesthetic in the air or the beating of heart monitors? Was it the smell of sickness and grief or the cold complexes of the doctors and nurses? She didn't like the feeling of depression it cast on her, the constant reminder that one day she too would lie prone in a hospital bed with her son and family watching her waste away.

Melissa sighed, running a hand down her face and glancing sadly at John. She leaned forward and ran her hand slowly through his hair, squeezing his hand with her free one. "John you're going to be okay. You have to be." she whispered, bringing his hands to her lips. She dropped it and leaned back in her chair closing her eyes.

* * *

**Author's Notes: so sorry about the wait for this chapter. I was in the hospital (again) and my internet was down. But as always, I hope to deliver a great chapter. I'm done with testing so expect an update tomorrow or Sunday. Review and enjoy! **


	22. Lightening

_Stiles POV_

Something was wrong, terribly wrong. He sat in class, knee bouncing and pen tapping obnoxiously against the table. His eyes kept straying out the window, looking for the hidden terror waiting for him. It wasn't paranoia; he knew it was there. His gut was clenching and tumbling uncomfortably; his palms were slick with sweat. Something wasn't right…

Someone tapped on his shoulder and he jumped. His cheeks heated with embarrassment and he turned. Isaac was staring at him, his puppy dog eyes filled with concern. Stiles felt ashamed. No doubt he and the rest of the pack could feel his silent panic, which wasn't helping anything. They all were on edge after Allison's kidnapping. Add in the fact that Gabriel disappeared as well and they were all on the edge of their seats. They didn't need to worry about him.

He mouthed an apology and turned away, forcing himself to focus on the lesson, but he couldn't grasp the concept. His mind kept wandering to yesterday and how everything had gone wrong. It seemed any amount of pleasure for them was short lived if lived at all. Jackson and Lydia couldn't even enjoy their time together because Peter decided to go crazy. Speaking of psychopathic werewolves, they were acquainted with his pack that morning, much to Derek's fury. They seemed civil enough, but Stiles was not to go anywhere without a guard. Truly he didn't mind considering he didn't have a good track record with strange werewolves.

He gave up pretending to listen and leaned back in his chair, tucking his hands behind his head. He couldn't shake the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong, that someone was in danger. Truth was, Stiles was anxious, waiting for the next attack; and there would be another. Gerard wasn't the type to strike once and call it quits. No, chances were his next target was already in shot and it was only a matter of time before he struck. But who? Who would be the next target? He couldn't help feeling like he was forgetting something vital, something that potentially save them all.

The bell rang shrilly, pulling him momentarily from his thoughts. He stood and began to gather his things when Isaac suddenly grabbed his elbow tightly. Stiles looked up at him, eyebrows drawn tight together. The boy's eyes were tight as if constricted with pain. "Isaac what's wrong? Did something happen?"

The boy didn't answer, just dragged him from the room and out of the building. Lydia and Scott ran to him at once, their faces sheet white, panic flitting in their eyes. The three seemed to speak with their eyes amongst each other. Erica and Boyd came tumbling out of the doors a minute later, eyes wild with worry. Erica came to his side and practically manhandled him from Isaac's grasp, tucking him firmly between her and Boyd.

"Is he here?" she shot at Scott who was already on the cell phone. Lydia was pacing up and down, biting at her perfect lips.

"He's picking up my mother and Mr. Argent." he said distractedly. He began whispering frantically in the phone, his eyes darting to Stiles ever so often.

"What are we supposed to do?" Lydia asked suddenly, arms crossed over her chest. Stiles noted the way she looked everywhere but at him. He frowned to himself. They were all acting weird.

"He says to get to his house now and stay there. No one is supposed to leave." He snapped his phone closed with a snap and tucked it back into his pocket. He turned to the rest of them. "Lydia, you, Erica, and Boyd drive together. Isaac, Stiles, and I will go in his jeep. Meet you guys there."

The wolves nodded. They started towards the parking lot, but Erica hung back slightly, holding Stiles with her. He raised an eyebrow questioningly, but she only responded by pulling him into a rib cracking hug. He was justly confused by the gesture, but returned it without hesitation. They hadn't spoken once since Allison's kidnapping, but he knew there were things to discuss. He, Boyd, and Erica had been held captive by Gerard months ago; they were connected in a way the others weren't and couldn't understand. Now that he was back, the three needed to address the fears they'd buried away, for it was all coming to a head now.

Erica pulled back and looked up at him. "Stiles I'm scared." she whispered. Stiles pulled her back against him and began to rub her back slowly. She seemed to burrow further into him.

"I know. We all are." He said finally. He didn't know what words he could say to make this right. Were there words to say? Could one really find solace in the words of another? He didn't know of any.

She gripped his shirt tightly in her fists. "Stiles I-I don't know if I can do this. I can't fight him! I can't forget what he did, what he said. He's a monster and he's going to kill us!"

He winced, feeling her claws brush against the skin of his back. "Erica he is not going to hurt you. I'm not going to let him touch you ever again. Think about what we just experienced this past summer; if we could beat them we can beat Gerard."

Stiles felt his shirt moisten and knew she was crying. "Stiles you almost died. You barely made it and as for the rest of us it was mostly due to the hunters sacrificing themselves. How are we supposed to stand against an army of people trained to kill us?"

"Trust. That's the only thing that we have that they don't. Erica we are a pack, and we are stronger than an omega. All of us will make it. I promise."

She said nothing more, just stepped back and wiped her face. Stiles felt he should say something more, but he couldn't think of anything that could appease her. She was frightened and he knew that feeling all too well. Sighing, he tucked his hands in his pockets and followed her to the parking lot.

* * *

_Allison's POV_

She was alone. There was no light, no warmth, and no comfort. Her prison smelled of must and mildew; water dripped from pipes. Her hands and feet weren't bound, leaving her free to move around in the musty darkness as she pleased. Her throat was dry, her stomach completely empty. Her face throbbed horribly and she was sure her left eye was swollen. Her body felt battered and bruised from hours of trying to break open the metal door holding her there. She could even taste the blood in her mouth from her earlier attempt to escape. All in all, it was not a promising day.

Allison stood from her corner, stretching her limbs despite the ache in her bones. She had to stay fit, alert, and ready for the first chance at freedom. She started by doing one hundred pushups, finding her rhythm easily. She focused her mind on nothing else but a possible escape route. So far she'd met ten hunters, but that was nowhere near enough the number she guessed was actually here. From her foggy memory she was below ground, in a cellar of some sort. If she was to get out she had to get to the stars immediately. Her arms burned, but she gritted her teeth and kept going. She forced herself to complete the last ten before flipping over on her back and beginning one hundred crunches.

Her abdomen was on fire, but she ignored it. Her mind wasn't on the burning or growls of her stomach. No, it was on Gerard and only him. She wasn't sure what to expect when she saw him completely. The last she'd seen of him he was literally dying, spewing up coal black blood. But now there was something different. She wouldn't call him a hybrid like Lydia, but he wasn't a wolf either. He looked dead, his skin almost hanging off of him. His eyes were gray and rimmed in red, a few blood vessels popped. His teeth were yellow, but sharp like canine teeth. He smelled of death and decay. She wasn't quite afraid of him, until she felt his strength. As if on cue, pain flared from her right thigh and she paused in her routine to rub at it. The medical team had patched her up, but it wasn't enough. Gerard had decided to give her a little something for her betrayal in the spring.

She continued her workout, switching from crunches to jumping jacks to basic combat skills. Her breathing was becoming more labored, sweat coating her body, but she pushed herself harder. This was war and she was a soldier. A soldier never showed their fear or emotions in the face of adversity. They let the passion and fury burn in their eyes as they executed their enemies. She was raised to be fierce and independent. And contrary to what the other rogue hunters thought of her she was not afraid of them. She had the utmost confidence that her friends would come for her, and when they did she would meet them halfway. She was not a damsel in distress, but a warrior.

She remembered discovering what Scott and Derek were. She remembered Kate taking her down into that dungeon, seeing Derek helpless and tied up. Kate had told her he and others like him were monsters, killers. She'd been afraid then, had stared up into Derek Hales' eyes. That night she didn't see a monster, not once. She saw a boy, trapped and dying. And he'd looked back at her, smelled her fear, and no doubt saw the truth reflected in her eyes. Kate had been the monster. But Allison had not helped him that night; she'd walked away. She'd left him at the mercy of her sadistic aunt. And though she was not a wolf she felt his betrayal; she had betrayed him.

She didn't defend Kate after her death, for she knew the truth now. And then Gerard had stepped in. even at their first encounter she knew that this man would be her downfall. He'd lived up to his promise. He'd taken her mother, friends, and father from her through quiet manipulation. He'd driven her to insanity, to the point where she almost murdered two teens in cold blood. And once again it was her and Derek, both prepared to fight to the death, but there was a difference. Derek never attacked or even tried to disarm her. He'd tried to save her when Gerard turned on her. Derek Hale, the monster, had saved her life multiple times. Derek Hale had proven time and time again that he cared, though he'd never admit it. And in the end she had been forced to realize that she herself was walking in Kate's footsteps.

Allison stopped her workout and leaned against one of the cement walls. She sniffed and wiped her face clean of the sweat and tears. It was okay to cry a little bit now, but these would be the last. She had to prepare. Her friends were coming and there would be blood. She didn't know who would come out alive, and she was realistic enough to assume that not all of the pack would survive. She hated to imagine who she would have to spend her life without- if she herself lived- but she couldn't help it. They each were an important part of her life, of her being. But of one thing she was certain. Derek Hale would not die. She owed him her life.

* * *

_Scott's POV_

"Will someone please tell me what the Hell is going on?" Stiles asked the room in general for the fifteenth time. As with the previous times, they said nothing and waited in tense silence.

They were gathered in the Hale house living room. Melissa and Chris sat together in chairs closest to the windows; Lydia and Jackson were occupying the loveseat; Danny sat at their feet; Erica, Stiles, and Isaac were squeezed together on the small couch; and Scott and Boyd stood on either side. Scott watched his mother carefully; at the first sign of distress he was getting her home.

Stiles began mumbling obscenities under his breath, low enough for wolf ears only. If there was one thing that pissed him off, it was for everyone else to leave him out of the loop. That had been one of the things he'd tried to get the rest of them to understand; that in order to survive there had to be complete disclosure. Scott agreed and supported him one hundred percent; but this time was different. This time it was for his own protection that he not know the details right away. Scott wasn't even sure how he could tell him that the unthinkable had happened. Neither were the others.

He felt Derek approaching the house and tensed. The other wolves followed suit, eyes trained on the door. Neither Chris nor his mother missed this and they watched the door as well. Seconds later it opened and Derek stepped in, his face dark and gaunt looking. Scott swallowed thickly. The wolves knew that he had just been to the hospital to check on the sheriff; something wasn't right. His heart seized in his chest. The sheriff couldn't be dead. He just couldn't. He'd been his father since he was young, had always been there for every little thing he and Stiles got in to.

Isaac reached over and gripped his wrist, squeezing it reassuringly. Scott breathed deeply, attempting to focus. Derek blinked at him sharply before addressing the room at large. "We are all aware that Gerard is back and that he has assembled an army of hunters to take us out." he said it coldly and matter of factly. Melissa shivered eyes cuing to her son's.

"Gerard is lethal. He's a hunter and a rogue one at that. He doesn't care who he has to kill to get what he wants. We are pawns in his game. To that extent we and our close loved ones are in grave danger." His voice turned to a slight growl on the last part. Scott was watching Stiles, could practically see the wheels turning in his head. Oh no.

Chris stepped in. "Gerard is crafty and cunning as hell, but he always has a tried and true failsafe method of dealing with the supernatural. Divide and conquer. He takes each member apart one by one before he moves in to take them all out. That's why he took Allison. He knows she won't join him, but he took her to be a catalyst. He knew that if anything happened to her that Scott and I would be the most affected."

Stiles leaned forward, licking his lips. "So you're saying that he's coming after the people we care most about to break us."

And his words had an immediate effect. They normally did when he beat everyone to the punch. Scott looked from his best friend to his mother, the two people he cared about most in the world. Which one would Gerard target? Boyd had moved and was now grasping Erica's hand tightly between his own. Both Lydia and Jackson had a tight grip on Danny's shoulders, eyes fierce with determination. Derek eyes swept over all of them, but lingered over Stiles' intense gaze. Scott waited for the bombshell to drop, for surely Stiles figured it by now.

"Derek…where's my dad?" Stiles voice was icy. A chill swept through the room. Isaac whimpered and cringed into the couch.

Everyone watched the two in tense silence. "He got to him didn't he?" his voice was so low now and dark that Scott felt the ice piercing his chest. No one spoke or moved; it was as good as a confession. He let out a cold, mirthless laugh and cupped his face in his hands. "And all of you knew. That explains a lot."

Scott was the first to speak, feeling the break happening already. "Stiles-" he started, reaching for him.

Stiles was on his feet in less than a second, backing away from them. "Don't. Even. Dare." He glared at all of them, hate and betrayal radiating from him in waves. Derek walked up behind and wrapped his arms around him. Stiles began to struggle, cursing him and everyone he could think off. Scott's first instinct was to run forward and help, but he knew there was no helping. This was something he could offer no solace for.

"Stiles he's alright. Calm down." Derek whispered over and over again. His voice was calm and controlled, but Scott could sense the alpha boiling to the surface. If Derek transformed with Stiles that close…

"No! You knew! You all knew and you wouldn't tell me! Gerard got to my dad and you all had the nerve to-"

"We didn't tell you right away to protect you. We didn't want you doing anything rash that would put you in danger." Scott said. Everyone in the room looked at him, sadness evident in their glances. This was his job as Stiles' brother to protect him, even from himself. The boy had stopped thrashing, but was whimpering and vainly tugging at Derek's hands. Scott swallowed thickly, feeling Stiles' grief. "I'm sorry. He's being transferred to another hospital a few towns over. It's safer for him there."

Stiles was looking at him through red, blurry eyes. He was hurting. "Why him? My Dad doesn't pose a threat to him. W-why?"

For that there was no answer, just grim acceptance. Melissa stood and wiped her eyes, a fierceness in her face she reserved only for the two of them. She walked to Derek and gently laid a hand on his sleeve. The wolf startled at her touch and looked down at the smaller woman quizzically. Scott watched the two of them looking at each other in silence and slowly Derek's arms dropped only to be replaced by his mother's. Stiles broke down against her, his body trembling.

"They aren't going to break us." Erica whispered so low he almost missed it. Slowly she stood and made her way over to the two and slipped her arm around Stiles' waist, her head resting on his shoulder. Isaac and Lydia followed suit, embracing him in their arms. Lydia was whispering in his ear, sweet little things that offered comfort. Danny, Boyd, and Jackson joined them, though the boys merely lay their hands on any part of Stiles' body they could find. Scott started forward, but Derek and Chris motioned to him. He frowned and followed them outside.

The sun had finally broken through the cloud bank and was glaring down at them all angrily. Scott leaned against the post, running his hand through his hair. "Derek what are we going to do? My mother could be next."

Derek and Chris exchanged a quick glance before looking at him. "She won't be. Tomorrow your mother, Iris, Stiles, Danny, and Jackson are leaving with the sheriff. There's a safe house a few towns away where they will be out of the line of fire."

"Why are Danny and Jackson going? And do you honestly expect Stiles to stay behind?"

Derek threw him a withering glare. "They need protection while there; just in case. Jackson isn't strong enough to go straight into battle and Lydia would skin me alive if I allowed Danny to fight hunters. As for Stiles…"

"Derek I'll have to agree with Scott on this one. Stiles won't go quietly and he may get himself hurt trying to defy you if you force him." Chris threw in.

Derek growled. Scott ignored him and pressed on. "So we get my mother and Iris out of here. Then what?"

Chris answered this question. "We get to Gabriel. He's the only one who'd know where the hunters are hiding…if he's still alive that is. Stiles father was attacked while on call. Apparently early this morning or last night there was a fire. Four of the victims were children of other hunters. I'm betting they were the recon team originally sent here. I'm betting his father found something and was dealt with. But no one knows where Gabriel is or the other teen hunter."

* * *

_Derek's POV- later that night_

He hated the hospital- the smell of death and disease, the feeling of every individual person, etcetera. If it were up to him he'd never set foot in one, but as many things were going in his life it wasn't up to him. He was there whenever a human member of the pack was hurt; he was there when an enemy was there. He didn't feel comfortable there among the mourners and debilitated. But he wasn't here for himself. He was here because Stiles needed him.

He sat next to the window, the sounds of the sleepy city lulling him to sleep. Stiles was slumped over his dad's hospital bed, clutching his hand and mumbling fitfully in his sleep. Derek didn't know what exactly, but it calmed him to watch Stiles sleep. Normally the kid was hyperactive and bouncing off the walls- literally- but in sleep he was vulnerable and still. His breathing was normal, and though his heartbeat had its own rapid pace it was steady. He liked seeing him that way; innocent and peaceful.

Derek leaned back and sighed. He had hoped that after becoming alpha things would be easier for him, but so far it only brought trouble to Beacon Hills. He wondered what might have happened had he stopped Laura from coming back, had he really tried to stop her. What if he'd been there to stop Peter from killing her? How different would things be? Kate would never have been killed, which drew in Gerard and hell on Earth. Laura would be here, probably with kids of her own. And where would he be? Would Stiles be in his life?

He didn't know how he knew it, but Derek could feel that in a few short days everything would be over. He didn't possess an inkling of what was to come, but he was sure there would be bloodshed. There wasn't a person in his pack he wouldn't miss and grieve. Despite his attitude he considered them family and couldn't fathom a pack missing one of them. He understood things about them, because the common factor was that everyone lacked that one thing- a true family. He came to them with no one and they came to him somewhat put together. He'd promised them safety and that's what he was going to do.

Stiles mumbled his name in his sleep and Derek watched him fearfully. Stiles was the most important thing to him, his entire world. He was sure Gerard didn't know about them, but who knew what he could find out. The last thing he wanted was Stiles in the hands of another monster to get to him. Everyone he used was used as away to lure him out. Laura had been Peter's technique; Scott had been Kate's; the list went on. If Gerard got his hands on him Stiles would die; there was no negotiations about it. It would drive him and Scott over the edge to see Stiles lying cold on the blood stained ground. He thought back to that night when he'd almost lost him, when he had inflicted wounds that were almost fatal. It was too close.

Derek stood and stretched. Ever since Allison's kidnapping he'd been running patrols, making sure that everyone was okay and accounted for. He slipped off his jacket and draped it over Stiles' shoulders before heading towards the door. He slipped into the hallway and stopped his senses suddenly on high alert. It was late, near midnight, and the halls were dark and deserted. He breathed deeply, a sweet flowery smell wafting through his nose. Something was wrong. He closed his eyes, listening intently. Nothing seemed out of place, but it was hard to tell when he was surrounded by people- again he hated hospitals.

After a few minutes he walked down the hall and stepped out into the night. He looked up at the sky, grimacing. Tomorrow night was the full moon. He'd have to hide the pack for their safety. No doubt the hunters would try to attack when their natural instincts outweighed common sense. Sighing he started walking to his Camaro, the gravel crunching under his feet. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys, thumb grazing over the unlock button. He heard a light ticking sound and dismissed it, pressing the button. And the night exploded.

* * *

_Isaac's POV_

He ran barefoot over the cement, the wind sharp against his bare chest. Iris clung to him as he ran, her face buried in his shoulder. Though he knew there was danger where he was going, he refused to leave her alone and defenseless; it could be a diversion. But his gut was lurching and his thigh was on fire, telling him that someone was hurt. But who?

Isaac rounded the corner and skidded to stop, his jaw dropping. The front of the hospital was swarming with police and firefighters. Emergency crews were evacuating the building and S.W.A.T was running around asking questions and searching for something. He could just make out Lydia's red hair among the crowd of people and made his way over. She sensed him coming and turned towards him, her eyes ablaze. She shoved her way through the crowd, the rest of the pack in tow and met them.

From the looks of it they were all either sleep or getting there. Lydia's hair was neatly folded on top of her head in a bun, her face void of makeup; Erica's blond hair was sticking up at odd angles and she was leaning against Boyd who looked normal as ever; Scott looked utterly disheveled, eyes wide like a puppy's and his bottom lip poking out; Jackson looked grumpy, though that was his signature look; Danny just looked confused, blinking rather stupidly at the bright lights flashing around them. Everyone was in their pajamas.

Iris slipped from his back and entwined her fingers with his. He heard the unsteady patter of her heart and knew she was panicking. He squeezed her fingers gently, offering comfort. "What happened? Who was hurt?"

"Someone tried to blow Derek up. They planted a bomb in his car. The police think it's an attempt to get to the sheriff so he's under federal protection from this moment forward." Lydia said, her eyes looking up at the building.

Isaac looked at the burning mass of metal and shivered. "Where is Derek? Wait- Stiles was with him. Is he okay?"

Scott nodded. "Stiles was asleep when it happened. We all heard the explosion, but he called me immediately."

He released a pent up breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Okay then where is Derek?"

Lydia and Scott exchanged a glance, their faces darkening. "We don't know. No one's seen him but we know he's still alive, otherwise Scott would be alpha. Stiles said he never came back in."

Isaac swept his eyes over the crowd and the wooded area surrounding the hospital. "We need to find him. Whoever attacked him may still be out there. But someone needs to stay with Stiles in case they come back for him instead."

Jackson growled low in his throat. "What the hell are we doing? It's like waiting for lightening to strike but never knowing where it's going to hit. Why aren't we looking for these bastards?"

Scott rolled his eyes as if the question had been asked repeatedly. "We can't go into this blind. Remember they still have a hostage and unless we get Gabriel's help we have to wait for the final attack. Besides we aren't going into battle without our alpha; it's suicide."

He was deeply impressed. Normally Stiles or Lydia were the voices of reason in a dispute, but for once Scott made a point. Though he too wanted to track down the hunters, he knew it would do nothing but get them killed or captured. "Iris and I will stay with Stiles. Her family isn't home and I don't want her there or…" he didn't finish because they understood. As much as he wanted to find Derek, as much as his instincts were screaming such, he needed to protect his mate. He didn't want Iris anywhere that could potentially put her in harm's way.

The group nodded before wincing, a howl splitting the sky. They straightened and stared at each other wide eyed. "Peter's found Derek." Lydia whispered.

* * *

**Author's Notes: as promised the very next chapter. Sorry for the cliffhanger, but I am an evil person. Hopefully, now that my inspiration is back the chapters will update more quickly. But please review and enjoy!**


	23. Sacred

_Peter Hale's POV- October 24_

It was luck, pure luck and circumstance that he'd been able to pull Derek away from the brunt of the blast. He'd heard the clicking and just managed to get to him as the Camaro exploded. His first instinct was to run, run and not stop. It was a difficult task, but he'd managed to hoist Derek's unconscious body over his shoulder and get him into the woods. They didn't escape unscathed however. Derek had shrapnel lodged in much of his torso, and had been bleeding profusely from a head wound. Some of his hair had been seared off, but then again he didn't really have a lucky break when it came to fire.

Peter dug another shard of metal from his abdomen and dropped it onto the blood soaked grass. Derek was still unconscious, and his wounds had started to heal, making his job slightly more arduous than it needed to be; he'd had to reopen a few wounds to clean them out. The task was tiring and he was growing increasingly frustrated. It didn't help that both his pack and Derek's pack were arguing inside the Hale house. They had been going at it about everything- training, battle strategies, etcetera.

He could understand the growing tension in the air. The full moon was tonight, and any wolf's natural instincts would be dominate throughout the day. Their emotions and sensations would be heightened; a feather light touch could be electrifying. They would fight, and if they were lucky the entire pack would make it to morning; but that was one pack. With two rival packs and alphas in the area, it would be easy for territorial battles as well as smaller skirmishes. It could very well turn into a bloodbath. Throw in the humans of the pack- Iris and Stiles- and they were looking at a long night of trouble. That was why it was prudent to get Derek healed before then so that they could coral the betas far away from town.

Then there were the hunters. The sheriff and Melissa had left early, not long after the explosion. It helped that the police department believed all the attacks were directed at the sheriff. But he was worried. Chris had said they pick the members off one by one, but they'd immediately gone after Derek. He could the weak logic that taking out the alpha would cripple the pack, but it was far too risky and a botched attempt guaranteed no second chance. If it were him, he'd continue to pick them apart little by little, then draw one into the trap. When the others came running to save a pack member they'd all die. He didn't know what they were playing but then again it was Gerard Argent.

Derek groaned and Peter paused in his work. His nephew's eyes fluttered and he mumbled under his breath, disoriented. He leaned forward, catching the boy's chin between his blood slicked fingers. "Derek? You with me?" he whispered calmly. The boy groaned again and then fell silent.

It pained him to see his nephew suffer, but such was the life of a werewolf. No, that wasn't true. There had been peaceful times, times that brought easy laughter. He released Derek's face and went back to his work, cursing when he discovered the wound had sealed itself and was now a puckered pink line. Sighing he plunged his nail into the tender flesh, eliciting a low moan from Derek. He bent over the freshly open wound and returned to his thoughts. There had been great times, until the night it was all taken away…

_The stars began to blink, the city winking its sleepy eyes. The fireflies were buzzing, their abdomens sparking in the fading light. A light summer breeze whispered over the tops of trees and grass, carrying with it the smell of the Earth and pack. The younger children ran about, brawling and playing; the older teenagers were inside chatting idly about nothing in particular; and the adults were preparing the family meal and generally enjoying themselves. _

_Peter leaned back on the porch swing, curling his arm protectively around Lisa. She yawned and grinned up at him sleepily. In the twilight her hair appeared to flame, her gray eyes smoldering. He leaned in close, brushing his nose against the delicate skin just at the nape of her neck. He inhaled, drinking in her scent. It was intoxicating; a thin mixture of perfumes and the Earth after a fresh rain. Her skin was silk soft, her hair as fine as water. She shivered at his touch, her pulse quickening slightly. He smiled against her skin and pulled away, planting a kiss on her baby soft lips. She responded timidly, unsure and insecure about her movements. _

_He chuckled and held her away. "Sweetheart, as enthusiastic as I am right now, the children can hear and smell." She flushed and ducked her head shyly. It was cute how she sometimes forgot that he and most of his family were werewolves. Hopefully, if tonight went the way he planned it to, she would be too. They had been together for three years and he was determined to have her mated to him permanently. _

_They settled back into comfortable silence, embracing one another. He rubbed her arm slowly, listening to the steady, healthy thrum of her heart. Lisa was perfect. It was more than her beauty and intelligence; he couldn't think of any other way to describe it than it just being her. She never merely walked, simply glided; her smile was contagious, just to be in her presence was to feel calm and safe; her touch was electrifying, her fingers able to reduce the strongest of men to putty; her voice as light and melodic as bells. _

_The door opened and his baby sister, Elizabeth Hale, poked her head out. She winked at him before addressing the rambunctious children. Her dark brown eyes flashed electric blue and she put her hands on her hips. "Everyone inside! It's time for dinner. Peter you and Lisa best come too." _

_Peter groaned and Lisa chuckled. He loved his little sister to death, but having to follow her orders everyday was not his favorite thing to do. But Elizabeth was alpha female, the alpha's mate, leaving him little choice. He stood and offered his hand to Lisa. She accepted and they walked inside the crowded Hale home. It was the yearly gathering, where every member of the pack converged on the alpha's place of residence for the famous Blood Moon. Everywhere he turned there was another family member grinning and laughing about something ridiculous. _

_Lisa's hand tightened in his grasp and he felt her draw slightly into his body. She was still slightly nervous around some of his cousins who knew all too well how female she really was. He planted a soft kiss to her temple, offering support. She smiled and leaned against him. They made their way to the table and sat down, nestled between Elizabeth and his cousin Eric. No sooner had they begun to eat than everything went to hell. _

_One minute there was laughter and the sounds of silverware clinking against plates, and next the power in the house went out. It wasn't a problem for most of them; they were wolves and could see in the darkness. Nevertheless, they were on immediate alert, the adults in the room corralling the children and teenagers closest to the escape passage. It was only minutes later that Peter heard them. There were several voices, one female, but it could only mean one thing: hunters. Elizabeth and Richard were wolfed out, canines barred and ready for the attack. Grateful that Lisa could not see properly in the pitch blackness, he slipped his hands from hers and transformed as well. _

_He heard the hunters moving around outside, whispering in hushed voices. He wanted nothing more than to eviscerate them, but there was a code to follow, and he refused to put his family in danger because of his prejudices. Suddenly there was silence, dead silence. He felt the tension in the air, so thick it was suffocating. And then they attacked. The front windows smashed, the living room was immediately engulfed in flames. The young children screamed as the flames licked their way towards them hungrily. _

_Elizabeth took command. "Peter, get them out of here! The passage, go now!" she cried shrilly. Richard roared and disappeared into the flames, no doubt going after the hunters. Peter reached out and grabbed her elbow. She jerked her arm away, eyes flashing dangerously. "Let's not do this Peter. Save my family; I'll be okay." She turned and followed her husband. That was the last time he saw her. _

_Gripping Lisa's hand tightly in his he dragged her down the hall to the basement. The others were prying at the doors frantically, trying to get them open. Peter raced forward, pushing and pulling at the iron contraption; it wouldn't budge. He gritted his teeth and threw his body against the door again and again, until his shoulder throbbed. The other men came forward to help, all prying at the door until they had to admit the true horror: the door was bolted. Cursing, Peter turned to the group of wolves. They were cowered together, the children whimpering, the teenagers unsure, the adults defeated. It was to the adults he snapped, "We need to go back. This exit is blocked. If we stay here, we die." _

_With that he grabbed Lisa's hand in his own and pushed towards the dark hallway. Smoke had filtered down to their level, stinging his eyes and lungs. He pulled Lisa as close as he could manage and started for the stairs. Immediately he reeled back, flames lapping at his heels. Behind him he heard the young children screaming and gagging, soon followed by the older werewolves. Above he heard glass breaking, the sound of shouts and gunfire. His heart clenched; he could feel Elizabeth fade from the Earth. He turned his eyes on Lisa, who was watching him with a sad, pained expression on her face. He looked behind her and saw the flames creeping towards them. One look and he knew that it was too late, far too late. Slowly she leaned up on her toes and kissed his lips. He could taste blood on the chapped lips, fear on her breath…_

Peter finished his work and stood. His eyes were stinging from the memory, but he swallowed it down. He had lost everything that night, everything except for Laura and Derek and he had killed his niece seven years later. This time he would not fail in protecting any of them.

* * *

_Erin's POV_

The hunters had failed. She sat rigidly in the chair, watching her master administer his punishment. The smell of freshly spilled blood wafted up her nose. Years ago the pungent odor would have spun her stomach and made her sick with nausea, but not anymore; she was hardened to the graphic details of the human anatomy. She bit the inside of her cheeks, pleased by the sounds of their pain. It was music, as pure as the songs of angels.

The door slowly peaked open and Gabriel poked his head in the room. Erin glared at him venomously. He was one annoyance she desperately wanted to be rid of; but for now she had to bid her time. She could smell his fear and uncertainty; it called to her like a siren's song. Her eyes followed him hungrily and she imagined wrapping her hands around his neck. She imagined squeezing until the very life drained from his eyes. She wanted him to see his fate mirrored in her irises. When the time came he would be hers and hers alone.

A cruel smile twisted her lips. The wolves would be blamed for his death in the end, just a tragedy of war. He turned and met her gaze evenly. They stared each other down in silence, challenging each other. Gabriel's face was emotionless, but Erin was not fooled. He was nervous, nervous and afraid. He knew that the sheriff had been shot, knew that she had pulled the trigger, knew that she was lethal. She could practically see the wheels spinning in his head, ways to bring her down. But there, something flickered across his face. She leaned forward hungrily, tasting and relishing his anger.

Finally he turned away from her, his face on Gerard. Smiling triumphantly Erin returned to watching the show as well. Gerard stopped and looked at them, eyes cold. She leaned forward, drawn towards their depths. But his eyes were not focused on her; instead they were pointed at Gabriel. A sour pit formed in her stomach and she wrinkled her nose in disgust. It was just like him to steal what belonged to her.

"Is everything alright Gabriel?" Gerard asked kindly. The words rolled from his mouth effortlessly, filling the silent room aside from the whimpering of the hunters.

Gabriel's eyes were glued to the hunters, each sporting dark bruises. The boy nodded his head, fists clenching and unclenching. "I'm going out for a little while…" he muttered. When Gerard said nothing, he turned and quickly walked out. Erin narrowed her eyes at him. It was his tendency to tell them whenever he was leaving the complex, but this time there was something off about him. He seemed uncertain about something and that in and of itself was breeding ground for trouble. She slid from her perch on the desk and followed him out.

* * *

_Gabriel's POV_

_What am I doing here?_ The question drifted through his head lazily, lingering. _Why am I drawn to this place? _

He pressed his palm against the wrought iron gate towering above him questioningly. The cool metal felt only minutely reassuring before dread seeped into his bones. Forest green ivy twirled up the gate, beckoning the weary. Neatly trimmed hedges surrounded the gate, their sweet scent dancing seductively in the air. The sky was overcast, only the tiniest of rays able to break through the wall of gray clouds. Beyond the gate the grass was dark green and glistening with fresh dew.

Swallowing thickly, Gabriel pushed open the gate and stepped into the cemetery. There was a broad path made of polished cement, winding and branching out among the many rows of headstones. A wind swept over the graveyard and a shiver raced up Gabriel's spine. The cold Earth whispered to him; the voices of the dead speaking their dead language. His gut twisted uncomfortably. _Were your last words, your last thoughts of your loved ones?_ They did not respond for the dead could no longer speak or love.

He drew his jacket tighter around himself and began walking along the rows, his eyes scanning the names on the weathered headstones and grave markers. Each name was another punch to his gut, another life gone. Each name represented a family broken with grief, forever in mourning. Time could not seal the wound. New birth could never replace the void left mocking the survivors. The mourning and pain just became bearable, almost a necessity, for once you stopped you severed their last ties to the world. _And who mourned your death? _He wondered, passing over the grave of a Matthew Daehler. _Will I be like you- a lifeless body in the ground? _

A few meters from him a funeral was in process. He paused to watch. The ivory casket lay before a small gathering of grievers. Flowers adorned the tent they gathered under, a dead silence stretching over the cemetery. He watched in grim fascination as two rows of smartly dressed soldiers took to either side. The men unfolded a flag and gently lay it over the casket, breaking the silence. The first cries pierced the sky, but the soldiers never broke their composure. They proceeded to salute and finally shot into the heavens. A soft ringing filled the air, the sound of angels calling over the earth. Gabriel shivered, the sound pulling at him too.

He turned and walked on. He felt like an intruder, watching what was meant to be sacred. But he felt as if he needed to. After all, he had not been present for his own mother's funeral. At first, it was disbelief that kept him away, and then it was his father. His father who had brought home another woman mere hours after the dirt had been piled on her casket; his father who had taken every memento of her and burned it. He had never loved Kate Argent.

Gabriel stopped, his eyes stinging with tears. He honestly didn't know what he was doing. He'd thought that in Gerard and the hunters he could find a home, a haven he'd been missing since his mother left. He'd hoped that as one of them he'd have everything again; but he was left with nothing. He didn't want to be a killer, but it seemed that was what they wanted. Erin had shot the sheriff in cold blood; the hunters had even tried to take out his son. That wasn't what he'd wanted. He wanted Derek hale to suffer, but not the kids. They were his age; they didn't pose a threat to anyone. He wiped at his eyes in frustration. _What was he doing? _

"The same thing Allison was doing earlier in the spring." A voice answered.

He jerked and spun around. Chris was standing feet from him, a sad look on his face. His heart thudded in his chest. How long had he been there? How long had he been following him? Gabriel gulped and took a step back. "What are you talking about?"

Chris sighed and gestured to a headstone beside him. Gabriel didn't have to see the name to know who it was. "Last year after her mother died Gerard was there to immediately offer comfort. He wormed his way into her mind and heart and he tore her apart. He changed her into a monster. She was just like you; lost, confused, and hurting. It was a miracle we saved her."

Gabriel shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about." _But don't I? He wondered. Don't I know that something about this whole thing isn't right?_

Chris took a step toward him. "Yes you do. You know because you are like Allison. You care more than you hate; you love and you're loyal to those you love. You're as confused as she was…and I'm not going to let you go down that path."

"What do you mean? I am a hunter just as you are. I don't care what the others do. I just want Hale."

His uncle raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry to tell you this Gabriel, but Derek isn't the one you should be going after. He's a werewolf, I won't deny that, but he's just a man. He has never killed anyone that he didn't have to."

"He killed aunt Victoria." Gabriel spat, rage boiling inside of him. How dare he say these things? Why was he taking their side?

Hurt flashed in his eyes. "Victoria killed herself…and I helped. Your grandfather convinced us to do it. It killed Allison. Derek may have bitten her, but Victoria could have lived peacefully with it; we would have found a way."

"He killed my mother. How can you possibly…" his voice trailed off, choked by tears. Strong arms wrapped around him and he melted into the person.

"Gabriel please listen to me. I loved my sister more than the next person, I will never stop, but that doesn't mean you ignore her wrongs. Your mother murdered his family without provocation after seducing him. She was no saint in the matter. And though what she did was wrong she did not deserve death. What's more, Derek was not the one that killed her; his uncle did. Please remember that he, just like you, had his loved ones stolen from him. Do not make the mistake that Allison did and try to take revenge that does not belong to you."

Gabriel stiffened. He had never known that, had never heard that story. His mother had always talked about the code and its sacrilege. He'd always believed in it, in her. But now he didn't know what to believe.


	24. hurt

_Stiles' POV_

_Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out._ Stiles repeated the mantra over and over inside his head, but it did little to soothe his rapid heart. He could feel his lungs expanding and deflating hastily as if he were on the verge of an asthma attack. A cold sweat had broken over his brow and his throat was uncomfortably parched. His knee bounced up and down frantically, his foot tapping against the wooden floor. He squeezed his eyes shut, his head throbbing painfully. Behind his closed lids he was assaulted with flickering scenes of the last 72 hours. His stomach churned, nausea washing over him. His hands were shaking uncontrollably, his fingers twitching painfully. Yet he bravely ignored all of this and focused on not launching into a full blown panic attack.

He knew the symptoms well, though it had been months since he had actually had a panic attack. It always started with the dry throat, and once the sweat started it was time to calm down. He also knew that it was worse because he'd been neglecting his basic needs lately. When was the last time he'd taken his medication? When was the last he'd slept properly or eaten? That coupled with the stress of the past three days was too much. His chest hurt and he wrapped his arms more securely around it to keep it together.

They were losing, losing badly. It was worse than when the alphas had attacked them, so much worse. This time they were sitting ducks, fish in a barrel, candy fresh for the taking. At least with the alphas they had some clue as to what they were dealing with, but the hunters had them running in circles. They always seemed to be one step ahead; anticipating their moves before they'd even put it together. They were ruthless, attacking the innocent bystanders as a way to cripple the pack. And every attack was calculated. It was truly like knowing lightening was going to strike and not knowing when or where.

Stiles released a frustrated breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. Things were going to shit. His father had nearly been killed and then Derek…An involuntary shiver raced up his spine and he choked on suppressed emotions. They'd almost got him, right there outside the hospital. If Peter hadn't been there the blast would have surely caught him full on and he'd have died. They hadn't just tried to kill him; they'd tried to destroy him. His heart sank into his chest. What would his life be like without Derek in it? It was one thing if he were to leave, but another if he were to die. His essence would seep into the crusts of the Earth, time withering away at his tombstone and memory. Sure, the world would continue to turn on its axis, but it would forever be marred and unbalanced.

A soft hand slipped onto his thigh, squeezing lightly. Warm breath tickled his ear and he was assaulted by a natural floral fragrance. "He's going to be fine. Relax, he's okay." Lydia whispered softly. Stiles leaned away from her comforting touch. He would not be satisfied, not comforted until Derek walked through the door.

He felt her sigh and leave the couch. He envied her freedom. Anytime he attempted to walk to any part of the house, he'd have escorts. He understood the packs' worries; Peter's pack was not as friendly to humans as their alpha. The full moon was too close and with all the tension in the air he didn't want to inadvertently spark a fight amongst wolves. Though Peter's pack was interesting. It was comprised of eight men and one female, all who looked to be identical. Their eyes were silver, set in smooth cream colored skin and blanked by obsidian black hair. They were all tall, the shortest standing six foot three. Their bodies were well toned as evident by the shorts and tank tops they wore. All watched his pack distrustfully, coiled and ready to attack.

He continued bouncing his knee up and down, his anxiety building. Normally he had some idea of how things would work out, some statistic to ease the growing dread; but he couldn't bring himself to do it this time. He couldn't see a light or glimpse of the future; hell he didn't know if he'd survive the next several hours. And what was worse, he couldn't overcome the feeling that someone he loved would be stolen from him. Would it be Scott, his brother since childhood or Isaac-the sweet teen he'd drawn under his wing? Would he ever again feel the warmth of Lydia's touch or hear the timid sweetness of Erica's voice? Would Jackson ever again bring the crowd roaring to their feet? Would Allison's radiant smile light a room?

And what about Derek? Here was a man that had lost everything, yet continued to care and unconsciously draw people into his family. He finally had a family again, was finally healing and it was being taken away again. What would the world be without his existence? Sure, the Earth would continue spinning, but surely the ground would weep; surely the heavens would cry in protest. The few that knew him, had glimpsed the gentle person beneath the hard exterior, would they recover? Would the chasm ripped through them heal or would it gradually break them from the inside out?

His breath caught and he clutched at his chest. Stiles couldn't envision losing any of them, even Peter. For the first time since his mother's death he wasn't alone. He had been more loved, accepted than with this group of people. He felt a hollow chasm blooming in his chest, making it hard to breathe. He didn't know when it had changed exactly, but they had moved on from that awkward we're- friends- but- not- really phase into something more. Even for him, in the beginning it had only been about Scott; keeping Scott alive, protecting his slightly dim witted brother. But that was the beginning. Soon he'd broadened his circle, letting in Allison and Lydia (Jackson was a part of the package deal). Eventually he included Boyd, Erica, and Isaac. They became a part of his will to survive everything that came his way. Now he wouldn't hesitate to stand in the line of fire for any of them.

He felt warm arms encircle him and he leaned into the touch. He sighed, the nervous energy draining from him as the person pulled him until he was tucked into them and a hand was running up and down his spine and through his hair. His unconsciously turned into the embrace and gripped the soft material of the shirt in his fists. The thrumming of his heart gradually slowed, the building pressure in his head waned and the high pitched ringing in his ears quieted. The tension melted from his muscles and he suddenly felt tired. Now that he was down from the panic attack induced high, he was able to focus on the important things. They were alive and could still fight.

The arms slipped from round him and a hand softly grabbed his chin, tilting his ad back. He inhaled the alluring musk of the woods, soap, and pure leather and for the first time in days felt at peace. He peeled his lids back and stared up into blue tinted hazel eyes. They were watching him so intently; he felt he'd never be able to look away. His hand slipped from his chin and moved to the back of his neck, his thumb making smooth circles just underneath his ear. He shuddered at the touch but didn't break eye contact for fear it was an illusion. He felt his wrist burning, but in a relaxing way. "Derek…"

The man leaned forward and latched onto his lips. They were soft at first, but quickly became frantic. His teeth nipped at his lower lip, his tongue asking for entrance. Stiles tangled his fingers in the man's hair and kissed back just as hungrily. This proximity, this intimacy was more intense than he'd ever experienced. He wanted all parts of Derek and wanted to give him all the components of himself. His heart was attempting to break out of his chest into Derek's palm and he gasped when he felt a warm hand press right over it.

"You called out to me. I heard you hurting. You're hurting." Derek whispered brokenly, pressing their foreheads together.

Stiles shakily placed his own hand over Derek's and held it there. "Don't ever do that again; don't ever almost die again." He pressed a chaste kiss to the man's lips and leaned into his chest, his eyes drooping. Derek chuckled and nuzzled against his neck, inhaling deeply. Stiles smiled against him, wanting to cry and at the same time kiss the man into oblivion. He was content just being held by him.

He was on the edge of consciousness when a low whine jerked him awake. He peeked over his shoulder and giggled despite of his exhaustion. Scott, Erica, Lydia, Danny, and Isaac were watching him anxiously and silently battling for the seat directly beside him. It was adorable, though strange that they were only now choosing to approach. Derek noticed the commotion as well and rolled his eyes. He pushed his lips just to Stiles ear, whispering so low only he could hear.

"They couldn't cuddle with you until I did. It's basic wolf custom that if a mate is hurt the others stand away until their partner sees to them first. But I doubt they even realize what it is they're doing."

Stiles looked back at the group of tussling teenagers and grinned stupidly. From his perspective Scott and Lydia were gaining the upper hand, and the others were just choosing sides at this point. He had a sneaky suspicion that Isaac was only on Scott's side because he'd be able to maneuver his way to Stiles through him. Erica and Danny were locked in a fierce growling stare down, canines bared and eyes flashing. He looked to Derek who was ignoring his pack, but instead glaring across the room at one of Peter's wolves.

He followed his gaze reluctantly. The woman's nose was wrinkled in disgust and she was shooting him with dagger like eyes. It sent chills down his spine; she definitely did not like him. Her eyes slid from him to Derek, to their intertwined hands and position. A sneer slash scowl marred her fierce features. Derek growled a low warning and the she wolf huffed, turning to look out the window. She occasionally cast him a dark look, but otherwise didn't turn back to them. A part of him wanted to ask what was going on; then again he'd rather ignore the mundane jealousness the female was throwing his way.

The cushion beside him dipped and he looked over his shoulder at the victor. Lydia was perched innocently on top of Scott who looked less than pleased, one perfectly manicured eyebrow raised. Stiles laughed at them, and the female took that as an invitation. She gently coaxed Derek's arms away and crawled into Stiles' lap. Scott inched closer and threaded his arm over his shoulder. Derek sighed and shifted, making room for Isaac and Erica to squeeze their way onto the couch as well. Danny somehow managed to sit between Derek's legs, leaning his head back to rest against them. Jackson and Boyd simply stood near them, one hand on Stiles' shoulders. When they were all settled it looked and felt like a tangle of limbs, but a comfortable one.

They relaxed, settling into one another. Stiles felt his heart relax into a slow, steady thrum that seemed to match the others. He could feel them purring in contentment at the contact. In his mind he realized it was their first puppy pile in a long time; they were probably craving it.

The front door opened, and with grumbling the pile broke apart. Peter's wolves tensed, growling threateningly. It sounded too animalistic and minacious, so unlike his pack; the hairs on his neck stood on end. The pack looked to Derek who shrugged, though Stiles felt him stiffen. Peter entered the living room a heartbeat later, instantly flashing his eyes at his pack. They reluctantly ducked their heads, but resumed snarling when two more people stepped into the room.

Stiles could admit that he was not surprised to see Christopher Argent, but he blanched when he saw Allison's cousin Gabriel with him. The young boy stood awkwardly behind his uncle his eyes darting around the room frantically. He avoided Derek and Peter entirely, but his eyes did linger on a few of them. Stiles noticed that he looked pale. His cheeks looked sunken in, his eyes rimmed in red, his limbs too skinny as if undernourished. His thin frame was shivering, though it wasn't even cold enough for a sweater.

Next to him Derek inhaled sharply. Stiles couldn't imagine what it must have felt like to him. He had no doubt done the math and realized Kate had seduced him knowing she had a family back home. It must have been like an icy stab through the heart to have to look at the offspring of the woman he once loved, the woman who'd murdered his own family. Stiles interlaced their fingers, tightening his grip when the wolf went to stand; he could already see the red tint to his eyes.

Chris nodded curtly to them before gesturing to Gabriel. "I'm sure you can guess who he is-"

"What is he doing here?" Derek cut in icily. His voice sounded distorted and Stiles was fearful his canines were showing.

The man blinked at him patiently before addressing the room. "I found him at the cemetery, getting some fresh air. He's here to help us rescue Allison. But first he needs to know…everything."

The tension in the room was suffocating. He felt the eyes in the room trained on him and Derek. As it was he and his mate couldn't look at each other. He knew it was silly to be jealous of a dead woman, but Derek had honestly loved Kate Argent. He'd loved her so much in fact that her betrayal had nearly been the death of him. And though Derek would say it meant nothing, you never forgot your first love. Derek huffed, looking at him out of the corner of his eye. There was something in them, hurt or sorrow he didn't want to or could not acknowledge.

"It was the night of the lacrosse finals at our school. Laura forced me to come so that we could her douche bag boyfriend play. I managed to sneak away around half time and went to this bar. It was easy to get in because the bouncer owed me for fixing his car; it didn't matter because it wasn't like I could get drunk. So I had a couple of drinks, and danced with a few girls who asked me. After an hour I wanted to leave, my senses were going haywire. And that's when I saw _her._"

Gabriel was staring at Derek like he had two heads, his mouth slightly open. Derek continued. "She barely spared me a glance. But my eyes followed her through the crowd. I was mesmerized by her curves, her hair, her eyes, and her smile. My wolf wanted to claim her right then and there. I'd never felt so strongly about anyone…and somehow we started talking. She told me how she just left a man not worth her time and how she wanted to have a good time."

He looked up at the teen with unreadable eyes. "I know now she was lying. Anyway, we had a couple drinks and she invited me back to her apartment, but Laura howled and I left. Strangely it was harder to leave that time than any other time I was summoned. My sister questioned me endlessly…it was like she knew, but I maintained my innocence. Kate and I saw each other a lot after that, and each time she taught me something new about what I imagine love was like. I could be myself around her; I didn't have to be this perfect little human. Slowly I started showing some of my strength and uncanny ability to figure things out. She loved it. And then one day we…" his voice trailed off at the end and Stiles slowly slipped his hand from Derek's. The man either didn't notice or didn't want to cause a scene.

"I loved her, honestly and truly loved her. So one day I snuck her onto our property so that she could see our house. Mind you, we'd been dating for about three months now, so I thought it was ok. I showed her everything, because I thought my family was gone. Later my mother confronted me and told me to stay away from Kate Argent, that she was a hunter and would hurt me. I didn't listen. I continued sneaking around with her and then one day she told me she had to leave. Two days later my family was murdered. I knew…I just knew it was her." His voice was a mere whisper at the end. Stiles didn't know how he knew, but he could sense there was more to it than Derek was letting on.

"Derek…were you going to claim her?" one of the pack whispered. Stiles tensed at that, somehow already knowing the reply. The man stiffened as well and slowly looked at Stiles, his eyes a mixture of pain and regret.

"I…I already did." And though he already knew the answer, hearing the words were like a punch to the gut. His insides twisted uncomfortably. It was one thing to know that he had loved another woman, but the fact that she had been his first claim was a different story. Stiles peeled his eyes from Derek's and stared at his wrist. His finger traced the fading crescent bite mark.

He avoided Derek's gaze and looked at Gabriel who looked close to tears. This must have come as a shock to the poor kid, more than for him. To know that his mother had basically raped a young boy to kill him and his family while her own family was at home was traumatic. But it was worse, knowing that he'd held a vendetta against an innocent person all that time.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." he murmured through forming tears. No one said anything, simply let him compose himself. Finally Gabriel looked up at them all, a stony determination on his face. "I have a plan to save Allison if you'll be willing to listen."

Gabriel looked at Derek who shrugged, his face a blank mask now. "I know how to get into the complex where they're holding her. The only problem is that it's practically werewolf proof. The only people who'll be able to get in are the human's. I can sneak them in through the Eastern bay since that's the closet entrance to Allison's cell. We can get her out through there, and along the way dismantle all the traps. Once she's out of harm's way the wolves can come in."

"Then that means only Stiles and Iris can enter. And I'm sorry, but Iris is not going anywhere near those hunters." Isaac quipped from his position on the floor. The others nodded, murmuring in agreement.

Derek's back went erect, his breath catching in his throat. He seemed about to say something, but Stiles quickly intervened. "Could we manage to get a wolf in with us? I think we need serious muscle there in case anything happens."

Gabriel chewed on his bottom lip, ducking his head. Stiles understood his hesitation; he was still wary of the wolves. "I-I think that may be possible, but it can't be D-Hale. It needs to be a beta."

Stiles leaned back, glancing pensively around at the pack of werewolves. He could already play the battle scenarios in his head. Derek, Scott, and Lydia would be at the lead because they were the top wolves. Boyd and Jackson would have to be with them to provide the extra muscle. He wouldn't take Erica; she was a viscous fighter and they'd need her. That left Danny or Isaac.

Isaac perked up and reached to him. Stiles allowed the contact; he could see Derek's hurt expression but ignored it. He wasn't the only one hurting. "Isaac can go with us. He's cunning and a tough fighter. Not to mention he's very protective."

Gabriel looked skeptically at the fluffy haired teen, but shrugged his shoulders. "Ok then. Tomorrow we meet back here and I'll take us out to the complex. The wolves should figure out their plan themselves…I honestly just want to save my cousin so I don't care." It was rude, but honest and even though he was human Stiles could gauge that the boy was conflicted and just wanted to do the right thing.

The pack nodded, though they cast furtive glances at Stiles and Derek. And yeah, that was going to get annoying pretty quick. He released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and stood. He waved half heartedly to the group and made his way to the door. He felt the eyes burning holes into his back but he continued until he was out in the crisp air. His eyes suddenly stung and he swallowed thickly, moving to his jeep. Behind him, he heard the front door open and slam and hurried footsteps.

He reached his jeep and paused, hand on the door handle. A warm chest pressed against his back and he resisted the urge to lean back into it. Instead he steeled his emotions and dropped his hand, but didn't turn. "What?" he whispered.

Silence, and then he spoke. "Stiles…I don't know what to say here." The voice sounded broken, confused, and frustrated. Stiles laughed darkly; of course he didn't know what to say.

"You never know what to say Derek. And frankly I don't want to hear anything." He was surprised at how steady his voice sounded despite the fact his heart was shuddering against the cold.

"Stiles please…I don't understand why you're upset. For once I wish you'd spout what you were thinking."

He stiffened and wheeled around. He faltered in his step, meeting Derek's burning eyes. His heart thudded and he swallowed. "You know what? I'm hurt Derek. I'm hurt because of all the people I knew who could hurt me, I never thought about you. But you did. I knew she seduced you; I knew you had sex with her. But you _claimed _her. That's entirely different. You didn't just love her, you wanted her forever. That didn't change even after she killed your family. No, it changed when she died. That's when the connection broke. And it hurts to know that. It hurts to know that I was your second claim."

He hadn't realized he'd started crying until the end and he'd heard his voice break. He wiped impatiently at his cheeks. "Look Derek, I just need time okay? Just a few hours to let it out. You may not understand, but I need it."

Derek seemed at a loss for words, so Stiles pushed him away and climbed into his jeep. He clicked his seatbelt into place and looked again at the wolf. His face was a smooth mask, but his eyes told a different story. In them was pure pain, one that can never have ending, one that burned away at your soul. He shuddered and started the engine. "Tell the pack they're welcome to come by tonight." He didn't spare another glance, simply drove off.

* * *

Author's Note: Sorry about the update. I just hope this makes up for it.


	25. Break

_Gerard's POV- October 25_

It was time. He leaned back in his chair and sipped his glass of wine. Outside the birds were singing their ode to the sunrise or rather their lament. Animals could always tell when danger was coming, when a sudden shift in the balance would occur. And what a shift it would be. Yes, it was time to finish what he had started. To date everything had gone exactly as he'd wanted, needed to happen. And at long last the game would be over. The Hale pack would be nothing more than a dark stain on the tapestry of his memory and Beacon Hills would cower under his hand. And Gabriel would deliver him the last pawns he needed…

* * *

_Stiles' POV _

He pulled the jeep to a stop, quickly killing the engine. They were parked on a small cliff overlooking the abandoned industrial section of Beacon Hills. The charcoal gray buildings towered to the sky. Some of the windows were missing while others were boarded up. Several of the fixtures were rusted or missing. The complex was surrounded by a sea of forestry. The groups of trees closest were gray, broken, and dead, one of the reasons it was shut down in the first place. From this vantage point Stiles could see the large SUVs somewhat hidden in the shrubbery. But something was off- there was not a soul in sight, excluding the two wolf packs waiting patiently for them.

Stiles, Isaac, and Gabriel climbed out of the jeep and made their way to the groups. Peter's pack did not look at all pleased; then again they never looked pleased. They stood with their arms crossed over their chests, eyes already bleeding gold. Peter however, looked completely at ease and ready for battle. He wore dark jeans and a t-shirt, his eyes a soft red. Stiles nodded to the man and joined his pack. They greeted the three with soft smiles and nods, though he could see their bodies vibrating with anticipation. They all seemed to be dressed identical to Peter, with the exception that they wore dark sweats rather than jeans and gray tank tops. The girls had their hair pulled back into ponytails and everyone's eyes were glowing. They were ready for whatever today would bring.

Stiles inhaled deeply. Today could very well be the last time he saw them. Someone cleared their throat and both groups directed their attention to Derek, Peter, and Chris. Standing together against the grim backdrop with the sun catching their stern faces, the three looked imposing and powerful. Stiles couldn't help but feel a spout of pride. Here were hunter and wolf standing together for the greater good; it proved that they could coexist peacefully.

Derek was watching him, his eyes betraying his thoughts. They were their natural hazel and they seemed detached. Stiles felt his pulse quicken in the instant their eyes met and he quickly dropped his gaze, tightening his fists. Last night he'd vented plenty if the fresh hole in his wall or the bruise on his knuckle was anything to go by. Scott had been the only pack member to actually come last night while the others spent what could be their last night together. He'd seen Stiles' hurt turn quickly to anger then back to hurt. So it had not been the easiest night, but he did have time to think. A part of him felt justified in his emotions while another part thought it childish and ridiculous. He sighed roughly; it didn't matter at the present, he had to focus on saving Allison.

Chris was the first to speak. "Okay, now that everyone is here we can get started. Peter, Derek, I trust you already have your strategies together?"

Peter nodded. "Half of my pack will stand as a distraction, getting some of the hunters as far from the complex as possible. The other half will enter through the Northern entrance and attack their defenses there."

Derek reluctantly moved his eyes from Stiles, giving him a moment to breathe. "We will attack the Western and Southern Bay. If all goes well, the rest of Peter's pack will have rejoined us by then and we'll be able to corral them into the main building. We end it there."

His words carried over the gathering and they all tightened slightly. It would all end one way or another. Chris nodded and directed his attention to Stiles, Isaac, and Gabriel. "I trust you three already know that it's essential you get in and out as quietly as you can. But just in case you should run into trouble…" he reached into his pocket and pulled out two small pistols, tossing one to both Gabriel and Stiles, "use these. These hunters are ruthless and will not hesitate to kill children. Normally I don't encourage gun use, but you need protection."

Stiles examined the gun carefully, fingers tracing the inscription. It was obvious these were regular bullets; wolfsbane bullets wouldn't be necessary when it came to humans. He quickly tucked it into the waistband of his pants and pulled his shirt over it. Derek's eyes tightened and his jaw clenched. With that they began breaking off into their groups. Derek approached him, motioning for him to follow. He didn't know why, but he did.

They walked until they were far enough so as not to be overheard. Derek turned to face him and Stiles stopped just an arm's length away. The breeze rushed between them, but they didn't break eye contact. Finally Derek spoke, his voice as gentle as the wind. "Stiles I need you to be safe. Please be safe. I can't lose you."

Stiles nodded. "I'll be fine. We all will."

And damn did he sound cold and callous. He swallowed, looking away from the man he loved. It wasn't the time or the place to think about yet another fissure that was running through their relationship. Right now he had to focus on Allison and making sure she was safe. Now was the time to end Gerard once and for all. He couldn't afford to get side tracked, not when his emotions had him on the edge of sanity. But then again, he could give himself this one last thing. Stiles stepped forward before Derek could register what was going on and hugged him. He felt Derek's arms trap him against his body and strangely he was ok with it, but he wasn't going to let things go too far; not yet.

They broke apart and returned to the waiting group of people. Chris nodded and handed both a small watch. Stiles strapped it on, but Derek stared at the man inquisitively, his eyebrow raised in question. Chris ignored him and strapped on one of his own before adjusting his weapons. Stiles felt slightly envious of the serious heat he was packing. Finally he addressed them.

"These watches are synchronized for when each group attacks. Peter's group will go first, then Gabriel, Stiles, and Isaac. They'll have twenty minutes before everyone else attacks. Agreed?"

They all nodded in agreement. Stiles walked over to Isaac and Gabriel, both of whom seemed on edge. He could sympathize. At the moment he was burning with the ache of vengeance. He wanted the bastard that had started all of this to not just die, but rot in Hell. He wanted Gerard Argent's head.

* * *

_Isaac's POV_

They crept along the edge of the dead trees, Gabriel in the lead. Stiles was right behind him, his eyes scanning the complex and woods around them. Isaac focused on listening for the hunters. His stomach was twisting uncomfortably, his inner wolf uneasy. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Where were the guards? Where were the traps Gabriel had spoken of? So far he hadn't seen a single hunter. He briefly wondered if it was a trap, but he couldn't foresee how that could be possible.

Gabriel abruptly stopped, holding his hand up to warn them. Stiles stumbled slightly, but didn't make a sound. Isaac immediately picked out the threat. Two men were lounging against the cement wall, chatting aimlessly. Isaac could tell they were heavily armed, if the pungent odor of wolfsbane was anything to go by. He inhaled, choking down the poison, getting himself used to it. Chris had said it was the best way to get them accustomed to the different strains of the poison, but it had to be done at a distance so he didn't hurt himself. When he composed himself, the two humans were looking at him, Stiles concerned and Gabriel…just staring. He shook his head and directed his attention toward the men.

"How much longer until we move in?" Isaac barely whispered. He didn't look to know that Stiles was checking his watch.

"Two minutes." Came the uttered reply. Good; that was all the time they needed to review the layout of the complex. Gabriel sighed and pulled out a small paper mapping out the Eastern Bay of the complex. There were several circles and lines of different colors marking different traps and escape routes they could take. While Isaac kept one ear trained on the hunters he looked closely at the traps Gabriel pointed out. Ironically almost none of them were on the same level as Allison's cell. Stiles and Gabriel launched into a discussion of how best to proceed because really, they couldn't have done it earlier? Isaac sat back and let them chatter amongst themselves.

He noted how the boy seemed at ease around Stiles. He even smiled a little, an occasional eye roll or sarcastic comment here and there. Gone was the hostility he displayed to the wolves. Maybe it was the fact that Stiles was the human of the group; or maybe it was because both had a lot more in common. Both were raised by single parents, both technically outsiders for most of their adolescent years. Whatever the reason the two seemed to connect. Was that a flash of jealousy? No, Isaac couldn't be jealous. Stiles was his brother, and Gabriel couldn't take his place.

A howl split the air and they tensed. The two hunters quickly moved from view and Isaac could others inside the complex stirring. The howls picked up their frequency, bouncing off the trees and making his teeth rattle in his skull. He definitely did not like Peter's pack; they were far too animalistic for his liking. He looked at Gabriel and Stiles. They nodded stiffly at him, faces drawn in determination. Isaac held up one hand, holding his hand. He waited until he was positive it was clear before nodding to the two.

They stealthily approached the building, Stiles drawing his gun. Gabriel quickly punched in a code onto a silver pad while Isaac stood guard, listening for anyone approaching. After several seconds the metal door clicked and swung open. The hallway was dusty and dimly lit. The place smelled of must, sweat, and…Jackson's blood. He wrinkled his nose, a low growl seeping through his teeth. Jackson had been so close all that time, being tortured and they hadn't even known. Stiles reached out and gripped his elbow tightly and he calmed himself. They had a mission to accomplish.

* * *

_Allison's POV_

It was time. She heard the thunderous howls shake the building around her. She stood, pulling her hair back with scraps of her clothing and tied her makeshift weapon belt around her hips. She tucked her homemade weapons into the waistband of her pants and moved to the darkest corner of the room. She leaned her head against the wall, breathing deeply and listening intently. She forced herself to swallow the elation bubbling in her chest; there would be time for celebration after it was over.

She heard footsteps thundering towards her and she pulled her makeshift knife from her belt and waited, counting the steps. They stopped right outside her door and she heard the locks turning. She tightened her grip on the handle and held her breath as the door swung open. Faint light flooded the room and Allison struck. Despite being malnourished and weak after days of captivity, she sprung forward fast as lightening. She wrapped her legs around his torso, slapping a hand over his mouth. She closed her eyes before she could think about what she was doing and slashed across the man's throat. She felt the warm spray drench the both of them and the floor and jumped away. The man's body slumped to the floor and Allison stared at what she'd just done. Her gut felt empty. It was one thing to kill a rabid werewolf; it was another to kill a human.

She dropped to her knees and stripped him of his weapons, checking to make sure his gun was fully loaded. She tried to stand, but stumbled in the blood. She landed flat on her stomach, her hands and torso sliding in the sticky liquid. Her stomach churned and she stumbled back, retching. Allison closed her eyes, dry heaving to ward off the sickness, but what she had just done coupled with days of containment won over. The vomit spewed from her mouth in chunks, adding to the foul odor.

Allison let it all out, clutching at her stomach and berating herself. _Pathetic. Look at you; you're spewing chunks because you killed someone? What kind of hunter are you? _She heard Kate and her mother's voices as if they were standing in the room with her. She gasped and pulled herself from the dirty, blood stained floor and wiped her mouth on a scrap of material. She mentally donned her hunter profile. She was a warrior. She had to be a warrior to survive. She heard more footsteps approaching and wasted no time bolting from the room.

She paused in the hallway, her vision slightly blurry. _Damn, _she thought gritting her teeth. Allison blinked several times trying to clear her vision before forcing herself to run. The hall seemed to stretch forever; the pipes hissed overhead, water dripping down on her. She rounded the corner, slipping on the floor. She managed to catch herself against the wall and paused to recollect herself. Her side throbbed awfully, making her head spin. The air was stale, and laced with something she didn't recognize. Her body felt numb, her senses dull. She leaned against the wall, breathing heavily as her eyes looked around. There was a stairwell just one hundred meters away and above it…an air shaft. Her eyes widened. Wolfsbane. They were circulating wolfsbane through the complex.

* * *

_Stiles POV_

Stiles was one hundred percent sure something was wrong. When they'd first entered the building the air wasn't pleasant, but it was bearable. Yet as they reached the lower levels it became difficult to breathe. In addition his limbs felt like rubber and his vision was swimming. Add that to the fact that Isaac was barely able to stumble along with them and he couldn't fathom anything not being amiss.

The trio stopped outside a metal door, trying to get themselves together. Stiles threw his arm around Isaac, trying to keep his head up to keep his airway open. The teen sagged against him for support and gripped his shirt tightly in his hands. Gabriel coughed long and hard, his thin frame trembling. Stiles reached out to awkwardly pat his back until the boy stopped. He felt his insides constrict and his muscles twitching. He gritted his teeth against the sudden rattling in his skull and forced himself to move. If they stayed there they would die.

Stiles stumbled forward, using the door to hold himself upright, his hand squeezing the door handle. Isaac gasped, snarling fiercely. "Stiles wait…someone…on other side…" he vainly attempted to reach for him, but instead collapsed in a fit of coughs and moans. Stiles jerked the metal door open, pressing the barrel of his weapon against his assailant's forehead the same time the cold sting of a blade pressed against his throat.

"Drop it." he deadpanned, his vision graying around the edges. He could taste copper in his mouth. _If we don't hurry we're going to die. _

The blade disappeared and he was grateful, for he wasn't sure if he'd even taken the safety off the gun when he drew it. He blinked, shaking away the dizziness and getting a good look at the stranger. The woman looked deranged. Her eyes were wild like an animal; her hair was pulled back into a crude ponytail, though much of it had fallen loose; her clothing hung precariously on her body, much of it ripped; the majority of her body was covered in blood; and the girl was looking at him with tears in her wild eyes.

"Stiles?" she choked out in disbelief. Her bottom lip quivered and she pushed aside his arm- which he'd forgotten still had a gun aimed to kill her- and threw her body into his. He was startled, but somehow managed to stay on his feet and hold the girl in his arms. She buried her face into his shoulder and wept while clutching at him as if he would disappear. It dawned on him that this could only be one person.

"Allison, damn you scared the shit out of me! I could have taken your head off. What happened to you?" He pulled back, using his shirt to wipe away the dried blood from her face and neck.

Allison sniffed, chuckling darkly but allowing herself to be coddled and cleaned. "I doubt you'd have been able to kill me with the safety on Stiles. As for the blood…I had trouble escaping. Where is the pack?" her eyes suddenly looked alarmed when she looked at Isaac who seemed somewhat under control and Gabriel who looked ghostly pale.

Stiles cursed, remembering they were under a timed schedule and checked his watch; they had ten minutes left. "We've got ten minutes to get out before they ambush Gerard and the hunters. Come on we have to get out of here. Something's making Isaac sick."

She pointed above the door. "Not something- wolfsbane. They're circulating it through the complex; I'm guessing that started this morning. We need to shut down the power before the wolves move in or it's over."

Stiles nodded moving to Gabriel while Allison attended Isaac. The boy was staring at his cousin with a mix of relief and guilt. "Gabriel, how close is the generator room?"

The kid looked at him though hazy eyes for a second before shakily pulling out the map. He spread it out on the damp concrete floor and they bent over it. Gabriel traced out their path. Luckily it was not too far from their current position, though it was in the direction Allison had just come from. Stiles looked at the other two. Allison had used tied a strip of cloth over Isaac's nose and mouth, a makeshift gas mask. She did the same for herself and gave two to Stiles and Gabriel.

"Do you know where the stairwell leads to near the generator room?" he asked, quickly securing the dirty cloth in place. And while it wasn't top of the line it did make breathing slightly easier.

The brunette shook her head sadly. "I tried escaping only one and made it as far as the next floor. A few hunters were quartered there. Come on; we may be able to get pass them." Before they could speak Allison had taken off, back through the door. The boys quickly followed, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the walls. In the distance he heard a faint howl and knew that the wolves were getting ready to move. _Time's running out._

Allison lead them down the hall to large double doors. Gabriel came forward, trying the lock pad only to jump back clutching his hand. Stiles gently grabbed it, turning it over to examine the damage. A circular pattern was burned into his skin. "Careful; it's protected by an electric current." Stiles warned as Isaac stepped forward.

The wolf didn't spare him a glance. He tensed, his body coiling to spring. His eyes bled the darkest of gold Stiles had ever seen them and the teen launched himself at the door. Isaac tore at the metal fixture, punching, kicking, and ripping. The metal groaned under his assault, the door buckling in. With a final roar he kicked it off its hinges and he stepped back, breathing heavily. The other teens flooded into the room, staring wide eyed at the control panels and turbines spinning rapidly.

Gabriel grinned broadly, jumping into action and moving towards a panel. "Stiles, start disconnecting the wires from the right turbine; Allison you take the left. Isaac, you need to stay back, the room is filled with wolfsbane."

They jumped to their job immediately. Stiles ducked under the rotating blades and examined the wires closely; there was no telling what the hunter had up their sleeves at this point. He braced his hand against the wall and with the other tugged at the large cord. It groaned under his hand, but he continued to pull until it ripped from the wall. Some of the cement crumbled away and the turbine wheezed to a stop.

Stiles looked at his watch, cursing yet again. They had less than two minutes to finish and get out. He pulled his phone from his pocket and started dialing Scott's number while ducking back from his corner. He internally thanked whatever god was listening to him when Scott answered on the third ring. "Stiles?"

He didn't get a chance to respond. In six seconds he noticed several things happening simultaneously. Isaac was attempting to fight off two burly men; Allison was wrestling her way out of a headlock; and Gabriel was being dragged from the room. He didn't hesitate, dropping his phone and rushing to his friends' defense. He tackled one of the guys attacking Isaac, driving his fist into the man's nose. He heard the sickening crunch of bone and felt the war bodily fluid gush over his hand. The man grunted and pushed him off, grabbing his arm and twisting it painfully behind his back. He shoved him against a wall, his fingers digging into Stiles' scalp. "Calm down wolf boy; we just want to talk." The man flipped him around and a fist connected with his jaw. Stiles went slack in the man's grip and he struggled to hold on to consciousness. Though the fog he heard his watch beeping. _Time's up._

* * *

_Isaac's POV_

Isaac pulled against his restraints, snarling hungrily in his throat. Their captor snorted and continued tying Gabriel to one of the chairs. They'd been ambushed and dragged to one of the rooms on the upper level that was lined with mountain ash. There were no windows and only one door in and out. In short, they were royally screwed.

The other hunters had left to join the battle he could hear raging above. His wolf yearned to join his pack, to protect his family, but first he needed to get out of there. It wasn't good that they'd been captured; all it did was give Gerard more hostages, an upper hand. And though he knew that Gerard would kill them all whether the pack surrendered or not, he also knew that his pack would try negotiating for their lives.

Stiles groaned beside him and the hunter stepped in front of him. He gripped the teens chin, forcing him to look him in the face. Isaac snapped at him, causing the man to chuckle and turn to him incredulously. "There a problem mutt?" he asked casually, brushing his fingers across Stiles' cheeks.

"Don't touch him." He growled. It was his fault they'd been caught in the first place. He'd been so preoccupied trying to swallow down his wolf he hadn't seen the hunters coming, nor had he been prepared to help his pack. He should have been able to fight them off. But no, he'd been concerned with trying to subdue rather than kill and they'd paid the price. No way was he going to let the brute torture his brother in front of him.

The man stood, moving before him, a dark grin on his face. "Okay then pup, I'll start with you."

He drove his fist into his jaw. Isaac's head snapped to the side at the force of the impact. He didn't have time to recuperate before he was given another left hook. The man pummeled him, his fists coming faster and harder with each punch. He coughed, choking down the bile and blood that rose in his throat. He could hear the others yelling, but then again that could just be his imagination. His vision was taking on a red/ gray tint, black spots dancing in front of his eyes. His ears were ringing and he heard a feral, almost evil sound echoing in the confines of his skull.

It was the same voice he'd heard when his brother had been killed, when his father beat him. It was demonic, tugging mercilessly at his heart and soul, demanding access to the fibers that made him a whole being. It thirsted for blood. _Kill…kill…KILL. _It urged. The dark sank it's claws into his forearms, holding him there, washing him in the rancid odor of decaying flesh. _Make him pay…make him hurt…kill him! _

The hunter pushed him over, the chair toppling on its side. His head cracked against the cement floor and white burst before his eyes. He sputtered, spitting out dark, coppery liquid as a boot connected with his stomach. Over and over it slammed into him. He felt his organs crumble under the heavy blows, felt his ribs splintering on impact, but there was nothing he could do to stop the assault. The ringing took on a higher, gentler, angelic tone. There was a stretch of white blossoming over his eyes; his body was going numb.

And almost as suddenly as it started it stopped. He gasped, whimpering and waiting for the next blow. The man had stopped and was untying Stiles, roughly dragging him by his hair out of the room. Isaac groaned, coughing up more blood as his body began to heal itself. Allison was jerking at her bindings fiercely, fresh tears running from her enraged eyes. He could smell the worry and rage rolling from her.

"W-where is he taking him?" he managed to spit out. His side was on fire; his ribs had begun to repair themselves.

Allison only struggled harder. "He gave himself up to save you Isaac. He told him he was Derek's mate!" she finally succeeded in pulling an arm free. She hastily untied her other hand and rushed to untie him. He sat up shakily, accepting her hand and stumbling to his feet. He was breathing heavily, but his senses felt sharper now. Allison still had an arm around his waist, supporting him. He took one final breath, listening to the deafening roars and gunshots above.

"Allison you and Gabriel need to leave. Get yourselves out and whatever you do, do not come back in this building. Get to Stiles' jeep and patch yourselves up. If you run across any wolves tell them what happened. Do you understand?"

She swallowed. "I need to help Isaac- " He gently grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to look him in the eyes.

"You need to get out of here. I'm going to save Stiles, but you need to get out. Call Deaton and Ms. Morell, call any reinforcements that know about the supernatural and get them here. But don't come in until they arrive. Please Allison, you have to trust me."

Something flashed in her eyes and she nodded stiffly. He waited until the cousins were out of the room before setting off, listening and following Stiles' frantic heartbeat.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Hi everyone! So I got started immediately on the next chapter and voila here it is. Anyway I hope you guys have really enjoyed the story so far ( even though it's can be classified as a canon divergence or alternate universe now that s3 has premiered) and thank you guys who've been following it so far. More on the way, so review! **


	26. Drums of war

_Sheriff's POV_

"_Wake up my love. Come on, open your eyes." The sweet angel whispered in his ear. Warmth, sweet warmth cradled his face and feathers brushed over his lips. "Wake my love. Come on, open your eyes." _

_John complied, his lids peeling back. Above him a large golden moon smiled down on the earth, the brightest of stars shimmering down, lending their light. Below him was a soft blanket of grass, plush underneath his calloused hands. John sat up, blinking stupidly. It was warm, early spring perhaps. A breeze ghosted over the ground, carrying with it the tranquil smells of new life, an ode to new life. He realized he sat on a knoll of sorts. Below, a stream was bubbling excitedly, its waters clear; the moon winked in their depths. It was a place of utter tranquility. Peace- a word he'd not associated with his life in ten years; not since his beloved was taken from him. His heart, rejoiced in it._

_A soft hand closed over his and he startled, looking at the stranger. He gasped ever so softly, suddenly breathless. The first thing he noticed was her hair. Under the moonlight, the silk like chestnut hair shined as it flowed freely around her, hanging over her bare shoulders and teasing the very top of her sundress. Her honey colored eyes seemed to glow, yet they looked darkened in the night. Her lashes caressed her cheekbones when she blinked. Her feather soft lips tilted up in a smile, her trademark dimples at their fullest. _

_John allowed his eyes to take in everything. He followed the threads of hair billowing in the breeze; the intelligent and mischievous twinkle he'd often seen in his son's eyes; the light flush of her creamy skin; and the beauty mark just below her right eye. He blinked, wanting to reach out and touch, but afraid that the illusion would dissolve into nothing. So he just stared at the woman he'd loved all his life. Lilliana smile brightened and she carefully guided his hand until it was resting on the swell of her belly. When he touched it, he felt how real, how warm, how alive she felt in that instant. And something soft nudged against his hand, so faint that if he hadn't been paying attention would have missed. _

"_John." She whispered his name so softly he was sure he had imagined it. Her voice was as smooth as velvet, as light as the twinkling of bells, as gentle as the fluttering inside her belly. He remembered this night, so clearly. It was the night she forgave him, one week before their son would be born. _

_He gritted his teeth and jerked away from her. No, it was not Lilliana; it was an illusion from his own personal Hell, meant to torture him until death. He pushed himself to his feet and walked to the edge of the water, staring into their treacherous depths. Was this his punishment? Was he doomed to forever live in a memory of a life he would never have again? He stared angrily at his reflection, searching for answers. _

_A hand slipped into his again and he sighed in defeat. If this was Hell, he'd have to give in to it whether he liked it or not. John turned to look at his dead wife. Her smile was still there, but her eyes were sad, gold trickling from their corners. The tears of angels, he thought in awe. Her hand cupped his cheek._

"_John, you are not in Hell, you're just caught in limbo right now." She whispered to him._

_He released a stuttered breath. "Then why am I seeing you like this? Why Lily?" his voice sounded so small. He reached up and held her hand in place. _

_She shrugged. "Your heart is broken John. I brought the sweetest memory you stored there, to help you return."_

_John raised an eyebrow. "Return? Why would I want to leave when everything I could possibly want is right here? I have you and my son; we're a family. I have no wish to return to that damned place. I love you."_

_If it were possible, her smile grew only sadder, but her face became more beautiful. "Unlike our son many months ago you do not have the choice to stay. John, you loved me, past tense. I am no longer the woman that has your heart. Look John, look at the woman who holds your heart." Her delicate finger pointed into the water and he reluctantly followed her gaze. _

_There was Melissa McCall. She was sitting in a small diner laughing and having a great time. He watched in wonder as she reached across the table and took his hand, a shy smile on her lips. They intertwined their fingers, but let them break apart. He saw the hesitation in her eyes, the fear of something. And then there he was, leaning across and carefully brushing their lips together in parting before standing and moving away. That had been only two years after Lilliana had passed, after Melissa had saved his life for the first time. The illusion disappeared and John looked back at his old love. _

"_I am not bitter you old fool. It was about time you found yourself another woman worthy of your and my son's life…which brings us to the reason why you are here. I am here to tell you that if you do not return to Beacon Hills we will lose our son. His life is in grave danger, and if you don't hurry it will be too late. The wolves cannot help him until you save him from his prison."_

_John's fist tightened. "What do you mean danger?" No, no one would hurt his boy. He'd been a failure for so long, wrapped up in his own delusions and self pity for so long that he'd forgotten that there was one person at least he'd die for. _

_Lilliana's eyes cried more profusely and she stepped away from him. "I can't tell you everything. As much as I want to I can't! Please John, I beg of you to save him. Save my boy. Do what I cannot and protect my baby boy." The moon brightened, its holy light bathing her body. The wind picked up in intensity, swirling around her feet. _

_John panicked, reaching for her. "Lilliana wait! Please, don't leave yet. Please Lilliana, don't leave me."_

_She hung her head and sobbed, and the sound was so pure and beautiful that he fell to his knees. "I will never leave you or my son. I love you." And with a final sob her body dissolved into gold dust, joining the stars above._

* * *

_Mellissa's POV_

Melissa jolted from sleep, her heart thrumming loudly. She looked around the hospital room in fear, searching for the source of the disturbance. There was nothing; nothing except her and the sheriff's comatose body. But she was certain s he had felt something; something had awoken her from sleep.

"M-Melissa…." Someone whispered. She jumped and swiveled around and stared in disbelief at John, who just a moment ago was dead to the world. He groaned and tried again. "Melissa…" His eyes searching for her, he tried to sit up.

Alarmed by his sudden movement, she bent close to him, grasping his hands tightly. "John I'm here. You need to rest; you're safe here in this hospital."

He shook his head vehemently and clenched her hand tightly, looking into her eyes. She flushed; he'd ever only looked at her like that once before, when there had seemed to be a glimmer of something between them. "Melissa I have to get to Beacon Hills. I can't explain how I know this, but Stiles' life is in danger, and if I don't get there he will die."

Of all the things to hear, that was not one of them. She blinked stupidly at him for a minute before deciding now was not the time to second guess herself. And as crazy as it sounded, she believed him. "Okay… come on, I'll sneak you out through the back and drive you there…"

His eyes widened and he tightened his grip. "You'll drive me as far as my house and then you'll return here where it's safe."

Melissa blanched. "Excuse me? And miss the final play of the game? Sorry, but my son is involved in this too, and I'm not going to sit by and wait for three of the most-" she was silenced by lips crushing against her own. An arm circled her waist and pulled her against John. She was startled at first, but as his lips moved against hers she relaxed into it and responded. God it felt good to be held, to be loved. But…this was John! He was her friend...her brother….her….lover?

John pulled back and cupped her face, his eyes smoldering. "Please Melissa; you have to come back here where they can protect you. I swear to you I'll bring the boys back in more or less one piece."

Melissa bit her lip. She didn't have an inkling of what was going on, but here was a man asking her to stay back. Here was a man asking her to stay away until it was safe, promising to return their sons unscathed before setting foot on a field. Had it been another man, Melissa would have laughed in his face. But John…John was looking at her in a way she'd seen in old photographs of him and Lilliana; in a way she sometimes caught when they had to go "parent mode" on their idiot children together while she scolded them. She trusted this man…and right not he needed her trust.

In reply she pressed her lips against his foreheads. "All of you better come back or I swear I'm going to murder all of you."

* * *

_Gerard's POV_

For months he had been recuperating in agonizing solitude, caught in limbo. He could not be a wolf until the mountain ash was taken from his veins, but he could not be completely human either. So was his existence until he'd met a young girl he'd once mentored. The girl had changed considerably in a short time, but she was just as trapped as he. But they were the key to the other's freedom. She offered knowledge of old magic and legends that could save his life while he could take away her problems for good. And thus, her family was burned alive for putting her through Hell. Meanwhile she gathered a following, one that yearned to step into the next level. They would eliminate the lines between supernatural and hunter, but rather eliminate those unworthy of the power of the world and harvest it themselves. And now, at long last he would achieve that dream.

Gerard sipped the last of his brandy and sat the empty glass on the table. He sighed and flexed his fist; soon his transformation would be complete. He glared at the faint scars on his forearm where Derek Hale had bitten him and felt a burst of rage. That fool would pay. His initial plan had been to merely force Hale to heal him and then kill him, but now he had a new plan. Derek would heal him, but he would also suffer while he did so. He would have no choice but to watch his mate be slaughtered by his hand and then only would Gerard kill him. He was not an alpha, but the poison in his veins was potent enough to do exactly as he wanted.

He turned to face the teen that was silent in the arms of his henchman. The boy had not uttered a single word since he'd entered and it brought a pleased smile to his lips. He could see his body trembling with fear, and he fed off of it. Yes, he loved this boy's misery more than anything else. It was more potent than even Allison or Gabriel's had been. Certainly the boy remembered their last encounter, though the bruises had faded long ago. Though, now that he thought about it, he owed the boy for had it not been for his crashing through a wall he might not have escaped. Well…he'd let him live this long, so his debt was paid. Now however, he was envisioning wrapping his fingers around the boy's slender throat and squeezing until the life drained from his eyes.

"Demetrius, would you be so kind as to release the boy and go help the others. We have much to discuss."

The large man nodded and stepped away from the teen. He lumbered from the room and closed the door with a snap. Stiles winced and unwillingly met Gerard's hungry stare. Gerard took a step toward him and chuckled when he stumbled backwards into the wall like a frightened child. "My Mr. Stilinski you have grown some over the course of a summer holiday. You look as if you could fight me off now…" He took another step forward. The boy said nothing, just glared defiantly.

Gerard frowned. This would not be as entertaining without his cooperation. In one fluid motion Gerard slammed a fist into his stomach, causing the teen to groan and double over in pain. He grabbed his hair and jerked his head back. The boy's eyes held no fear as he glared back at him. It was only pure hatred. That was all fine, for he would soon know true fear. "Come now Stiles are we not friends? Can't we be civil and chat?" When the boy did not answer Gerard slammed him back against the wall. A crack formed where his head connected; oh well.

"It's rude not to answer when an adult is talking to you…or did that whore mother of yours teach you nothing before she croaked?" And, yes, there was a fire in his eyes now. The teen tackled him, his fists flying before he leapt up and dashed for the door; Gerard was faster. He lashed out with his half formed claws and tore through the flesh of his ankle like butter. The boy screamed and went down, clutching at his bloodied ankle.

Gerard stood and dusted himself off. "Such a temper. I apologize if that was a sore spot, but you see I've lost much compassion for you people. I can't wait to tear into all of your little friends before I kill you in front of your alpha. But who will go first? Perhaps I could finish off Whittemore, he's danced this tango before? Or how about that feisty red head that stole my slave from me? I could easily get rid of that faggot friend of his…though it would please me to eliminate that cocky bastard puppy you sacrificed your life for. Yes… I think I'll start with him."

Stiles leered at him. Never before had he hated someone so much. "If you touch Isaac…" Gerard curled a hand around his throat, lifting the teen and throwing him across the room. His body hit the wall with a sickening crunch and he slid down the wall. He grinned, pleased that his little play toy was still somewhat conscious. He walked over, kneeling in front of him and grabbing his chin roughly, allowing his claws to sink into the delicate skin of his cheek.

"Isaac isn't the one you should be concerned about. Because when I am finished with both you and Hale's pathetic pack, I will hunt down your father and Scott's mother. I will slaughter them. And then I'll kill Allison, Gabriel, and my son. I'll kill them all Stiles, but the very last person I will kill is Scott McCall himself. I will break everything that makes him who he is, and only once there is not a glimmer of his spirit left will I kill him. He will suffer until I grow tired. So you understand that Stilinski? I will destroy Scott McCall."

* * *

_Lydia's POV_

She did not go in with the others. She stayed behind and watched them run into battle to end the menace that was Gerard Argent. Peter had been the only person not to question her when she'd made the decision. Derek had stared at her sorrowfully before leading his pack to war. Jackson and Danny's eyes were filled with relief- okay and that was certainly going to piss her off, she wasn't delicate. Scott had wanted to stay…but in her gut she knew he was meant to go into that warehouse and that she was not. Not yet anyway. So she'd stayed behind and was forced to listen to the battle from a far. And that's when she heard them coming.

Lydia perked up, jumping from the hood of Stiles' jeep when they came crawling up the cliff side. They were both covered in dirt and blood, their eyes wild and faces ashen. Lydia ran forward, pulling the female into her arms. The girl embraced her and they clung to each other, their hard laughs of relief at finding one another dissolving into tears. _Allison, you're safe! Allison! Allison! _ Her mind chanted this over and over.

She finally released her best friend and stepped away. "Allison what did they do to you? Come one, I need to get you to Deaton." She attempted to pull her towards the passenger door, but the girl jerked away.

"No, Lydia listen to me. We were caught and one of the hunters beat Isaac. He-he was going to kill him, so Stiles gave himself up. He told him he was the Alpha's mate so that he'd leave Isaac alone. Gerard has him and no one else knows. Lydia you have to alert the others before something terrible happens."

Lydia drew herself up to her full height, eyes narrowing sharply. "You both need to cover your ears. After I howl get the hell out of here; things just got serious. I'm through playing." And without further warning she threw back her head. A deep, boiling rage flared white hot through her body. She opened her mouth and let all of that hate and loathing pour from her in a deafening roar. The drums of war pounded.

She dropped her head and looked at Allison and Gabriel through golden eyes. Lydia could smell Peter's pack returning, could hear several vehicles approaching the complex. "The Calvary is coming."

* * *

_Scott's POV_

Lydia's roar shook him to the core. He felt a tug at his primal instincts he'd only ever felt when Derek called to him. But it was more than that. It was the hatred, the fury, the concern in that howl that threw him from his feet. She had never cried so harshly to them before, which could only mean that something was wrong. Scott continued to fight, but strained to understand her meaning. An image flashed through his head, one of their pack in one of their pack piles. It seemed to zoom in on Stiles' face and her cry took on an urgent pitch before dying. Stiles was in trouble.

Scott ducked under a flying fist and landed a right hook of his own. The man's jaw cracked and he collapsed in a heap. Around him the rest of Derek's pack was reacting in pretty much the same way. Their blows became more deliberate, more punishing. Derek himself was a monster. He was casually tossing aside the hunters as if they were nothing but harmless flies. His eyes were blood red, and Scott could see the true alpha form looming haphazardly beneath the surface. And that pulled at something different for him. He wished to let the wolf take over everything, so that he could save his brother. But could he surrender his heart?

A high pitched scream echoed off the walls and Scott looked around frantically for the source. Erica was kneeling beside Boyd's lifeless corpse, her teeth gnashing together and large tears rolling down her teeth. She clutched at his body, her hands coming away covered in dark liquid. Her agonized roar ripped through him. The other wolves winced, momentarily falling to their knees. She threw her body over his and wept, her rage deafening. And then he finally felt it. He felt Boyd slip away from them.

Scott saw red. His blood turned to ice and his heart imploded. He was gone; Boyd was gone forever. "Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" he roared in anguish. He felt a heat explode inside of him and next thing he knew he was throwing himself at a hunter attempting to sneak up on Jackson. One second he was getting ready to deliver a skull crushing punch, the next he was sinking his teeth into the supple flesh of the man's neck. Before he could think Scott tore out his throat, drenching everyone and everything near them in blood. He dropped back on all fours, his hackles raised and maw pulled back. The other hunters were staring at him but Scott was focused on Erica. The distraught girl looked up at him with golden eyes and he could see the wolf beneath her.

Scott roared and waited patiently for her to break free. Her eyes flashed and her answering growl tore away her human flesh. In its place was a fair sized gray wolf with angry eyes. They spared each other one last glance and launched into battle with their pack.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Okay, just so we are clear, I have absolutely no idea where I got the idea from that they'd actually turn into wolves. I swear it just…well it just sort of happened and if you want to kill me for it I'm sorry but you can't. Anyway…I hope you guys like this chapter, there was just so much angst in here! Next chapter will be pure action I think, and I'm hoping to make it the longest chapter, so yes expect a delay in updating, but it won't be a month this time. It should be a week at best. If any of you have any ideas for the epic battle chapter you're welcome to PM or review and if it sounds good I may include it. (Naturally you brilliant people will receive the credit) Ok so yeah, that's it. Thanks for reading. Ciao until next time!**


	27. Double Crossed

_Isaac's POV_

_Boyd was gone; he was gone. _Isaac thought as he barreled up a flight of rusted stairs. _He can't be, he just can't be. _But he knew that his pack brother was dead. He felt his very essence bleed into the hardened earth, his life ebb away. He heard Erica's heartbroken cry of fury and unbearable pain. He felt Derek's own brand of fury as if the alpha was directing it at him. But more than that, he felt the void knocked into the pack. It was like a punch through the lungs, a vacuum mercilessly sucking out the precious air.

_I should have been there._ He thought, his eyes stinging. He stopped, a clawed hand clutching at his chest as he leaned against a wall. _I should have been there. _As usual, he wasn't there to save those he cared about; as usual he left them to suffer alone. Isaac doubled over, greedily taking in gulps of stale air. Grief and guilt were a deadly mixture, but sadly one he'd lived with, had even welcomed as a part of his hectic life. When his brother Camden had died he'd been shocked to say the least; but he'd also been guilty. His brother had only joined the military as a way to earn income to care for him, his little brother. It had been his fault and with every drop of dirt on his brother's coffin he'd felt a bullet pierce his chest. His father wouldn't have been killed if he hadn't run away like he had. His father had followed him and Jackson had murdered him. It was all his fault. And now, he should have been with his pack, but instead he'd been literally having the shit beat out of him.

He squeezed his eyes to ward off the nausea that threatened to overtake him. It was not the time to get sick with self-pity, not when he had a brother to save. He straightened, his senses suddenly on high alert. Someone was moving swiftly toward him and he recognized the particular stench. He snarled as the man came around the corner, a gun aimed squarely at his chest. The hunter wore a wicked sneer, one eye brow half raised in mockery.

"Well pup, I was just on my way to see you! What a surprise you came to see me."

Isaac ignored the jibe, though he could feel his hackles rising. "Where is he?" he growled. He took a small step forward, which the hunter shadowed with his beady eyes.

The man's sneer widened and he shrugged. "I would say that doesn't matter at this point, but if you must know my boss if having a nice chat with wolf boy." He inclined his head behind him, down an ominous hallway that stretched forever. "Trust me pup, he's doing a lot better than your little pack. Am I correct or did one of the mutts die already?"

Isaac snarled fiercely at him. His blood boiled, eyes flashing threateningly. "Shut up." He bit back on the urge to charge the brute. Stiles always told them to keep their cool and think about a situation, but it was difficult. The man smelled like his blood, his misery and he could hear Stiles' frantic heartbeat just on the other side of him. If he charged he'd get himself shot, and right now his pack couldn't afford to lose anyone else.

The gun twitched and Isaac dodged just as a bullet whizzed by his head. He quickly collected himself and lunged for the hunter, grabbing the arm holding the gun and slamming it against the wall. The hunter grunted and released the weapon before throwing Isaac into the opposite wall. His body hit with a crunch and he fell to his knees. The man kicked towards his head and Isaac rolled out of the way. He twisted and tackled him, sending them both to the ground. He swung his fists into the man's jaw, the bone cracking under his hand. The hunter growled, spitting blood from his mouth. Isaac went to swing again, but a flash of white hot pain sent him over, clutching his abdomen.

He stared down at the stab wound in disbelief, one hand covering the wound. He could tell that it wasn't healing, was possibly poisoned. The blood seeping through his fingers felt abnormally hot and sticky. His head began to swim as the poison worked its way into his system. He swallowed and watched the hunter climb to his feet, wiping the blade on the edge of his tee shirt. There was no smile on his face now. It was contorted in barely repressed rage. His eyes were flashing dangerously with hate, his mouth a thin white line, his nostrils flared, and a vein popped out in his forehead. He stowed the weapon back in his boot and pulled out another device. He pulled until it elongated and Isaac's stomach dropped.

For years after his brother's death he'd dealt with the abuse from his father. Be it emotional or physical, the man's punishments were brutal. Sometimes he'd beat him with a belt or wire or his bare hands. Other times he'd use whatever was conveniently around. On rare occasions he'd use his own fists to beat him until he prayed to never wake up again. And worse still, he'd lock him in a freezer for days without food. But even with all of that, he'd never once tried to actually kill him. The hunter, had other plans.

He jabbed the cattle rod squarely between his shoulder blades. He arched his back, an inhuman scream ripping from his lips. The currents tore through his body, forcing his hyperactive nerves to scream in agony. He tasted blood on his tongue, thick and coppery. And just as suddenly as it came the pain was gone, but he continued to twitch. His lungs expanded and the air hit him like a punch to the gut. He coughed, still clutching his side and trying to hold himself up with the other. His eyes were blurry, but he was able to somewhat peer up at the hunter's ferocious face. It was clear that he was going to draw this out as long as he could, but in the end Isaac would be dead.

Isaac tried to move away from him, a cold sweat breaking over his skin. Dammit he wasn't ready to die yet. And he still needed to rescue Stiles, at least for Derek's sake. The teen had given himself up only to preserve his life and he simply could not die before returning the favor. Stiles was a major reason half of them were alive. He'd continuously sacrificed for the pack that he loved; the people he had accepted as his family. To let him die would be inexcusable. He still had people that cared for him, loved him, and would cherish him.

The hunter walked a few steps behind him, tapping the cattle rod. "I can't tell you how much I'm going to enjoy killing you and the other mutts. But I think wolf boy will be my favorite. He needs to learn what happens when you betray your own race for a couple of dogs. How loud do you think he screams? Do you think he'll beg? He thinks that by giving himself up he saved someone, but really he made this much more interesting…"

Isaac stopped listening after that. He stopped in his retreat, something more powerful than anger pulsing through his veins. His blood pounded in his ears, his vision bathed in red. He felt an unnatural, almost painful heat flare through his veins. His muscles snapped, expanding and contracting until they were tearing. He threw his head back and howled hungrily. He shivered and dropped to all fours, feeling a dark mass pushing out of him. On pure instinct, he let it break through, peeling away at his delicate human skin.

He turned, snapping his jaws threateningly, his hackles rose in silent warning. The hunter stared open mouthed at him, shock and curiosity in his hateful eyes. Isaac heard a sharp intake of breath down the hall and attacked. He didn't know how, but his body flew through the air the instant he thought it. The hunter raised the cattle rod in defense as Isaac's large body slammed into his. They both went down, crashing onto the hard metal floor. He snapped his powerful jaws at his face, but the hunter pushed him off roughly. The man tried to run. Isaac licked his jaws and lunged, using his claws to tear at his ankles. The man fell with a yelp, still scrambling to escape. He loved the sound, relished it even. He raked his claws down the man's back, earning more sounds of pain. Yes, pain was all that he deserved. Isaac leaned down, tasting blood even before his canines pierced the supple skin of his throat. With one fluid motion the man was silenced beneath him.

Isaac took a moment to assess what he had done, but oddly felt little revulsion. This was war, and it was kill or be killed. He snapped his attention to the end of the hallway, where he was certain Stiles was being held captive. He bounded towards it, using his stronger animal legs to get there in three strides. He hesitated unsure if it was a trap or not. He could hear both Stiles and Gerard on the other side and from the sounds of it, Stiles was putting up a fight.

He crashed through the door, eyes raking over the room. Stiles was on his back on the opposite side of the room, his leg bleeding and face bruising. His eyes were wide and desperate, his hands clutching at his stomach. The teen was shivering, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His face was pale and sheet white. And standing over him was a monster.

His body was muscle, pure muscle. The veins popping out of his skin were black, standing stark against the pasty skin. His claws were long and yellowed but bloody. His neck was thick and bulging. His mouth was full of jagged, razor sharp teeth that forced his lips to be pulled back in a snarl. But it was his eyes that petrified Isaac the most, the eyes that would no doubt send him screaming into consciousness should he survive. His eyes were pure black, darker than the night of a new moon, deeper than a black hole. They were rimmed in fiery gold. Dark, pulsating veins fanned out from each eye, branching out to his temples. This monster was Gerard.

Stiles struggled to his knees, locking eyes with him. "Run. Isaac run away now!" he cried. The monster grinned, but in reality it was much more sinister, too sinister to describe. Gerard struck him and the boy dropped, gasping and clutching his sides. Isaac barely had time to react when the monster lunged at him. He jumped, but yelped when a clawed hand tore into his left thigh. He met Stiles' terrified gaze as he was hoisted into the air and thrown head first, through a metal wall.

* * *

_Derek's POV_

He had not come into the battle expecting to leave with his pack intact, none of them had. Did they pray for it? Yes, but in reality that was not their life. When they entered the complex things had gone as planned. They took out the hunters with ease, but then they'd been ambushed and Boyd had been killed. It had taken everything in him not to transform right then and eviscerate the remaining hunters, but he couldn't do that. He had to remain calm, keep a cool and rational head at all costs. No doubt Gerard wanted him to transform, for whatever purposes he wasn't sure but it could very well be in the man's plan. That alone was enough to keep him grounded, but then he'd watched Scott transform into his full wolf form and he knew he had to hold back his instinct. The wolves would need him clear headed if they were to survive.

Derek snarled and snapped the neck of a huntress in one fluid snap. He watched the light fade from her eyes, felt her spirit wither and die, much like Boyd's. He dropped her corpse on the ground and raced to help Jackson, who was fighting off two hunters and protecting Danny. The boy was nursing a severe bullet wound to the shoulder and barely seemed conscious. Jackson caught his eye and nodded swiftly, jerking his head behind him momentarily. Derek knew what he wanted, but he could also sense what he meant. Jackson was growing tired and knew that one if not both of the hunters would catch him; he didn't want Danny to be there when it happened.

He charged forward and slammed an elbow into the back of one of their necks. The man crumbled, his heart beating sluggishly. If he wasn't already dead, he soon would be. Jackson took the opportunity to roundhouse kick his partner in the chest. Derek heard his ribs splinter on impact as he was thrown across the room. The teen then turned to his best friend who was shaking uncontrollably. He hoisted the boy over his shoulder, his face sheet white and fearful. "Derek I need to get him out of here. He's going to get killed."

Derek took one look at his beta and knew there was no use arguing. Danny's eyes were flashing, but couldn't seem to stay human longer than a few seconds. Sweat was soaking the front of his tee shirt and his body was convulsing. The bullet wasn't wolfs bane, but whatever it was it was potent. He nodded stiffly. "Don't let anything happen to him." Jackson nodded and raced towards the exit, ducking under bullets.

A sharp pain pierced his shoulder and Derek roared, swiveling to face the hunter. It was a man close to his age. He was balding and taller than Derek by a foot. His pale blue eyes were zeroed in on him, crossbow raised to fire. He smirked. "Not yet." He turned his weapon and fired. Derek turned and watched the arrow narrowly miss Erica who was tearing through her own group of hunters. He lunged at the hunter, wrestling him to the ground and holding him against it by his throat.

"Not yet? What are you waiting for?" he growled, his teeth inches from the man's face. The hunter spat in his face, hatred hot in his eyes. Derek wrinkled his nose and stood dragging the man with him. He flung him carelessly away, ignoring the sound of his body hitting the cement wall and his stuttered intake of breath. The remaining hunters began pulling back, inching ever so closely to a secluded hallway. He advanced, careful to avoid looking at Boyd's body.

_It's my fault. It's all my fault. The fire, Laura's murder, the murders, the alphas, all of it was his fault. _Derek swallowed the ill feelings. There would be time for that later, should he survive. He watched as his pack chased them off, listening closely. It sounded as if the rest of Peter's pack was closing in. Good; he was ready to end this before they lost anyone else.

He followed them through the door, into the center of the complex. It could best be described as a hanger, with beams exposed on the ceiling. There were four double doors that looked as if a strong gust of wind would send them over. There were only two staircases leading up to what may have once been an office. The floor was made of cold concrete, small fissures already running through them. It was the perfect testimony to a battle field. For some, it would be a graveyard.

Derek quickly assessed the battlefield, his heart dropping out of his stomach. Peter stood at the head of the group, jaw clenched and eyes tight. His pack ( or what was left of it) fanned out around him. They looked lethal in their beta forms along, their eyes seeming to pulsate with energy. He could feel their tension, their muscles coiled with the desire to attack. His pack was another matter entirely. Their hackles were raised, lips pulled back exposing their powerful canines. Another wolf had joined Scott and Erica. It was slighter than the other two, with sleek russet fur and intelligent eyes. It could only be Lydia. His betas looked at him, their inhuman eyes betraying their stony faces; they were terrified, and with good reason.

Standing across from them was literally an army. The hunters stood opposite them, fanning out in a half circle. Their weapons were not raised, but it would only take a second to do so. Their numbers ranged from twenty to seventy, far too large for their small numbers. When Chris had told them that hunters were coming he hadn't expected this magnitude would descend to kill teenagers. His blood boiled and he had to clamp down his emotions. That was exactly what they were doing- murdering teenagers. He couldn't speak for Peter's pack, but he could certainly speak for his own and knew that none were killers. Under the circumstances of the past few months they'd had no choice but to kill their enemies, but otherwise were harmless.

He walked until he was at his uncles' side. The man didn't spare a glance in his direction, but Derek noticed the slight tilt of his head. A nod of acknowledgement and farewell. He took the time to look at his uncle, really look at him. The man had aged considerably and honestly looked tired. Here was a man who had witnessed all of his loved ones die, who had been forced to live with the memory for years in a comatose state as his body healed. Here was a man who'd awoken in a crazed stupor that caused him to murder his niece and several others. Here was a man who had been brought back from the clutches of death. Though he could not say he loved his uncle, Derek could respect him and all that he'd endured. And here he was again, knowing full well that death could possibly be seconds away.

Derek returned the nod stiffly directing his attention towards the hunters. It was now or never. He roared, long and loud. His betas responded, followed by Peter and his pack. The hunters smirked, their eyes cold. In quiet precision, the wolves moved forward, leaving behind human rationale and utilizing whatever supernatural strength they possessed. Their bodies arched gracefully in the air, growls and snarls filling the empty space. The first line of hunters raised their weapons and the first gun shots rang out into the empty space.

* * *

_Allison's POV_

The first gunshots rang through the still air, followed by a symphony of howls and snarls. Allison's stomach plummeted, but she bit back her fear as she strapped her gun to her hip. Her mother had always told her to not think with emotion, but strategy. _A strategic mind is a weapon; an emotional mind is a death sentence. _Strategy, though often times cynical, preserved the lives of innocents and rescued those in peril. Emotional decisions often resulted in catastrophe. Allison swallowed a lump in her throat. Many of her decisions had cost her mother her life. The thought of her mother brought her up short. As usual she was bombarded with the grief that it was all her fault. If only she'd listened and stayed away from Scott! If only she'd seen what Gerard was doing to her! None of this would have happened and they'd be safe. But then again they could very well be in the same position, only she'd stand alone with neither side offering comfort.

She shook her head, donning her mask of cool calculation. Her sins were her sins and now she could rectify them. She'd chosen Scott and the pack and would stick by their side to the end. Her father may never forgive her, but it wasn't about him anymore. It was about upholding the Code, about protecting the innocent. Whatever their faults, the Hale pack were innocent and she would defend them to her last breath, with her family at her side or alone.

Someone touched her shoulder and she spun around quickly, her heart thudding in her chest. Gabriel took a hasty step back, his eyes clouded in fear. Allison felt ashamed and silly. She quickly stowed her weapon away and offered him a shy smile. "I'm sorry." Her cousin shrugged and stared at his feet, clenching his fists.

Allison didn't know if reaching out to the boy would be best or not. For once, she understood the bitterness Erica harbored for her. She felt betrayed by someone she thought she could trust. They'd grown up together, had been inseparable as children. Because of his height at a young age, they'd been considered twins. She'd felt great that he was there, but then he'd brought Hell to her and the pack. But aside from feeling betrayed, she could empathize with him. He'd been manipulated to carry out Gerard's bidding as well. He was as broken as she had been, maybe even more so.

"Gabriel-" she started. He looked up at her with tear filled eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. A loud bang reverberated through the trees and his face morphed into one of utter agony. He gasped, clutching at his chest. He pulled away his hand looking in shock at the dark blood staining it. Gabriel took a shaky breath and looked at Allison with wide eyes before slowly collapsing.

Without thinking she rushed to him, pulling his head into her lap. His chest was already bathed in precious crimson. She blinked back hot tears and tore away his shirt, her heart stopping. The bullet wound looked as if it had pierced his lung which explained why he couldn't scream. He gapped up at her wordlessly, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. His tears soaked into her pants as he blinked up at her fearfully.

"No, no Gabriel hold on for me. You're going to be okay." She lied through the bile rising in her throat. There was nothing she could do to save him and they both knew it. But that didn't stop her from trying. Allison pressed on the wound willing his heart to keep beating. Gabriel gripped her wrist tightly, staining her skin with his blood. The blood was oozing through her fingers far too quickly, his pulse weakening. "Gabriel please hold on. You have to fight." She could hear her voice quivering as she held back choked sobs. His eyes spun wildly in his head, searching for something she could not see. He shook his head and shuddered. His heart gave a final, wet pump before silencing. His hand fell from her wrist, hitting the ground with a hollow thud.

_Gabriel is gone. My cousin is dead. _Allison thought with numb disbelief. _He can't be. He simply can't be. _But there was no denying the vacant look in his chocolate eyes, the stillness of his chest, or the heavy silence of his heart. The leaves were painted dark crimson, the earth greedily drinking in the last of her cousin. With trembling fingers she closed his eyes, shuddering as her tears fell on his cold skin. _It's my fault. It's all my fault. _

A branch cracked to her left and her head snapped towards the sound. She wiped her eyes and peered into the trees, her heart thrumming loudly in her ears. She let her eyes sweep along the trees slowly, zeroing in on the shadows. And then the sunlight broke through the canopy, filtering to the forest floor. Her breath caught in her chest. The numbness ebbed away, giving away to a bloodlust stronger even than the thirst for revenge for her mother.

Her snow white hair hung in a tight braid over her left shoulder. Her angelic face was pinched in a soft smirk, her eyes dancing with the fires of hell. She wore a hunter suit similar to the one Allison owned. Her arm hung loosely at her side, the gun pointed at the ground. Erin grinned, displaying two perfect rows of white teeth. The girl lifted her chin in quiet offering, beckoning her forward before turning tail and sprinting into the trees.

The world slowed. Allison was on her feet in seconds, crashing through the trees after her. Erin laughed at her pursuit, her white whipping out behind her. Rage boiled in her gut, fire in her veins. She could taste the blood in her mouth, smell in her nose. She had taken her family, had stolen the precious life of a child that had a future. Unlike her, Gabriel could start over on his own path; this didn't have to be his life if he didn't want it. But now he would never have such an option, he'd never have the chance to live. And Erin had caused it.

They entered a clearing and the girl stopped. She turned quickly, firing at her rapidly. Allison ducked and rolled out of the way before charging. Erin raised the weapon again but Allison was quicker. She grabbed her arm and twisted it before kicking at her elbow. Her boot connected, the bone shattering on impact. Erin yelped in pain but released the weapon. She kneed Allison in the stomach, grabbing a fistful of her hair and throwing her to the ground. Allison clutched at her stomach before ramming an elbow into the girl's side. Erin stumbled and Allison tackled her. They both went down, a flurry of punches and grunts. Allison managed to flip them over, pushing all her weight on the teen's chest and pummeling her face.

Erin snarled and snaked her legs up and around Allison's throat. She reached up to try and pry them off when a sharp pain flashed through her. She knew even without looking that she had been stabbed. She gasped and wriggled, but the legs tightened around her throat. Her lungs felt tight and heated, her head began to swim. She scrambled, reaching for her boot. Tears stung at her eyes. Fear, anger, frustration circled through her. _I've let everyone I love die. I've failed them again._

"_Allison what are you doing? Is this how I raised you? Get up and fight. Get up right now."_ Her mother's stern voice cut into her thoughts sharply. She gasped, losing more precious air as the legs tightened.

"_Get up and kick her ass Allison. Come on I know you're stronger than that."_ She heard Kate's condescending tone and swallowed the bile rising in her throat. She was not going to die, not like this.

"Pathetic Allison, real pathetic," Erin snarled, "I'll be sure to take care of Scott when you're gone. I've always wanted a pet."

Her eyes snapped down to the albino's, her vision tinged red. She reached into her boot and pulled out her favorite hunting knife. Erin's eyes widened and she clenched her legs tighter. Now on her last breath, Allison knew that in the next second one or both of them would be dead. She sneered down at her, her eyes wild with fury. "See you in Hell." She plunged the blade to its hilt in the girl's sternum, tearing through her heart.

* * *

_Sheriff's POV_

_We're too late. _The sheriff thought, jumping out of the cruiser. He bent next to the body of the small boy he assumed was Gabriel Argent. His body was cooling, the blood already dried. His gut clenched at what that could mean for the other teenagers. He could already hear the distant gunshots echoing form the old complex below them and assumed that whatever was going on was about to reach his conclusion. Lilliana's voice echoed in his head. _Save our son. Only you can save him._

He stood his eyes tight with determination. He looked over his shoulder, nodding to his "team". Deaton and Ms. Morell exited their vehicles, clad in black and weaponry. Their faces were identical platonic masks, not an emotion betrayed in their eyes. "We need to get down there now."

A twig snapped and he aimed his gun immediately into the trees. The shadows twitched and Allison came stumbling out of the trees, sheet white and covered in blood. His gut lurched as he took her in, though she seemed furious more than hurt. She caught sight of them gratefully and immediately ran to the sheriff. She embraced him, her thin body trembling. He closed his eyes and stroked her back, momentarily taken aback by their good fortune. _There's still hope. At least there's still hope._

* * *

_Stiles' POV_

Stiles struggled against the claws at his throat dragging him down a hallway. His ankle had gone numb and his side was following close behind. He knew that he had little to no chance of escape, but he had to try. He could already gauge that the entire thing was a trap, and from the sounds raging below them the pack wasn't doing too well. He could not be a hostage; he already knew that Gerard would kill them all no matter what Derek did or didn't do. But more than that he was worried about Isaac. The small wolf had not resurfaced after Gerard had thrown him head first through a concrete wall. His gut clenched uncomfortably at the thought that he was dead. It would be all his fault if Isaac died.

Gerard stopped, growling furiously. Stiles grunted as the claws momentarily tightened, lightly piercing his skin. From his expression he could guess that someone important had been killed. _Good. _He thought callously. His stomach didn't twist at the nauseating coolness in his heart. The hunters deserved whatever they got from this point on. He'd seen Allison's face, seen her eyes. They'd driven her mad, probably tortured her psychologically. They'd shot his father, had twisted a young boy into a murderer. They'd destroyed what little peace had returned to Beacon Hills.

The man loosened his hold, but he stiffened, turning his eyes on Stiles. "Your father is here…" he snarled. His heart skipped a beat at the news. His father had come for him, had come to fight with the pack. He was torn between relief and sudden fear. While his father was the sheriff, these were ruthless hunters who didn't care who they killed as long as the job was done. He knew the pack would protect his father but he still didn't want him anywhere near the battle.

Gerard pulled him up to his full height. His demonic eyes bore into Stiles' soul and he looked away. A clawed hand roughly grabbed his chin and forced his head back around. He whimpered when a claw dug into his cheek. "I'm going to enjoy killing him in front of you boy." And then he did something unexpected. He shoved him away, letting him fall backwards on his bottom. He looked up at Gerard furiously. That was against the rules. His father was off limits to the supernatural.

"I won't let you hurt him." He vowed. He was surprised at how strong his voice sounded, despite the sprinting of his heart. Gerard cocked his head to the side, a slow smile spreading over his face. "I'm afraid you don't have a choice in the matter Mr. Stilinksi. You see, I always come with a backup plan, though you all were too foolish to notice."

Stiles felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and looked over his shoulder. _I should have known._ The she wolf walked over and roughly dragged him to his feet. "You crazy bitch." He spat, his blood boiling. Of course Peter's pack would be bat shit crazy. Of course they would betray them. But Stiles knew in his gut that Peter had not orchestrated this double cross.

The wolf slammed his head into the wall, rattling his brain. "I prefer the term visionary."

* * *

**Author's Note: As promised, the next chapter! And yes I'm leaving a cliff hanger. Trust me it will make more sense why once the next chapter is posted. But I hope you guys liked this one. As usual, leave a review or pm me. I'm sad to say you will not see the ending coming. **


	28. Guardian

_Jackson's POV_

Danny sagged against Jackson's body, his body like lead. His breathing was shallow and labored, his heart sluggishly thumping in his chest. A cool sweat had broken over his body, although his skin was hot to the touch. The wound had closed over, yet he could tell that it wasn't healing internally. The taller teen seemed to be in excruciating pain, if his gritted teeth and clenched muscles were anything to go by. It was unnerving and Jackson felt useless. How could he help to heal his friend if werewolf healing was ineffective?

They slowly trudged up the steep side of the small cliff, stopping every now and again so that Danny could recollect himself. Jackson in the meantime was focusing on the battle raging inside. He couldn't tell which side was gaining the advantage. He could dimly feel his pack mates, but the connection felt dim and distant; the only person he could feel a solid connection to was Derek. He could somewhat sense Peter and his pack, but it was fuzzy as if there were a break in the line. Jackson yearned to be there, but he had to help Danny.

Danny stopped suddenly, his clawed hand digging into Jackson's shoulder. His body trembled and his knees buckled. Jackson's arm shot out and curled around his torso, stopping his chest from hitting the ground. "Shit, Danny are you okay?" He turned him over, laying him on his back. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, but Jackson could tell his lungs weren't expanding enough to compensate for it.

He ripped open his shirt, staring in horror at the young wolf's chest. The fair skin was scarred with dark blotches running half way down the right side of his body. His shoulder was tomato red with dark veins running through it. The veins branched out, coiling over the expanse of his chest. Tremors ran through Jackson's hands as he took in the sight. It was getting significantly worse. If he didn't get help now… No, he refused to even consider the alternative.

He reached a shaking hand out to touch his skin. In the back of his mind he knew it was futile, but he was willing to try anything to prolong his best friend's life. Danny winced at the connection, barely able to hold back a whimper. The skin under his palm was blazing, but Jackson forced himself to hold his hand there. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose, forcing the world out. His ears began to ring softly, a gentle whisper almost. A supernatural peace settled over him. As cliché as it sounded, he was genuinely one with the Earth. He could feel the earth _breathe_; could hear the steady thrum at its core. A breeze ruffled his hair, and then slid slowly down his arm to his palm. His fingertips tingled as warmth blossomed out over the wound.

Jackson waited while the skin slowly cooled under his hand, but he knew it wasn't enough. The most he could do was reduce the fever in hopes that Danny could begin to heal himself. As it was, the werewolf's heart stuttered for a moment before speeding significantly. He moaned and tried to pry Jackson's hand away. "Stop. Pain. It hurts." He hissed brokenly. His breathing became more rapid, though not at all steadier.

He reluctantly pulled back, staring dejectedly at his friend. His kin was almost milk white, and his golden eyes had begun to glaze over. A quivering hand reached out and grabbed Jackson's, squeezing tightly. Jackson gripped the hand but turned away, his eyes pricking with tears. _Damn this is my fault! I should have been watching my back. That bullet was for me! _He slammed his fist into the ground, the rock crumbling away. He ignored the throbbing in his broken knuckles because they would heal. Danny wouldn't.

His breath hitched. Gerard had promised to take away those he cared about and he had made good on it. His biological family was dead, murdered in cold blood; Lydia was fighting for her life against an army trained to kill her; and now Danny was dying before his eyes. He'd give anything, _anything_ to save them, even his own life. Jackson turned back and looked at his friend. The boy was lying on his back again, eyes closed. It wasn't fair that Danny had to get caught in the middle, that because of Jackson he had to die.

Danny peeked at him, flashing a pained smile. Jackson returned it, despite himself. "I'm going to be okay Jackson. You know me better than that."

Jackson blinked at him. "I'm sorry. You took that bullet for me and-"

"And I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Don't go all noble on me Jackson; I made that decision on my own. I wasn't going to let you get hurt if I could have stopped it." He struggled to sit up, wincing as he went. He fixed Jackson with a stern, exasperated look. "Jackson we're a pack, we're brothers. You can't be the only one protecting me. I love you just as much as you love me man. I made my choice to save you and I don't regret it."

"But you're dying! I can't heal you on the inside and it's obvious you can't either! Damn it Danny you can't die because you think you're going me any favors!" He hadn't meant to snap, but the hopelessness of their situation was weighing heavy on him.

His best friend rolled his eyes. "For once will you shut up? I'm not going to die, at least not today. I can fight the poison until we get help from Deaton."

Jackson sighed and turned away from his stubborn friend. "You better not die…or I'll kill you." He heard Danny chuckle behind him and instead focused on the area around them. There had been a subtle change in the air, and he was sure if he hadn't been paying attention he'd have missed it. He stood to his feet abruptly, standing between Danny and the trees. His friend was watching him warily. Jackson timidly sniffed the air, his stomach rolling when he picked up the scent of fresh blood; it was moving towards them.

He couldn't tell if it was friend or foe, but they were moving towards him swiftly. He heard the crunch of their boots on the ground and counted. Four people were coming. Were they hunters? He couldn't be sure, but the smell of blood was so thick it was nauseating. He tensed, preparing to attack when they broke through the trees. Allison came out first and he discovered the origin of the putrid smell. Much of her clothing and body was scratched and tattered. She looked at him with a mix of relief and fear. Beside her was the sheriff, his eyes locking on Danny lying on the ground. Jackson unconsciously took a step to shield him from view. Behind the two were Dr. Deaton and Ms. Morell. All four were armed.

Allison stepped forward first. "Jackson what happened to Danny?" she asked quietly, her voice sounding more broken than he'd ever heard.

"He was shot with a bullet. I don't know, it was laced with some type of poison. The wound closed but it isn't healing." His fists tightened at his sides and he tried to swallow the guilt rising in him.

Deaton came forward slowly, palms raised to show he wasn't a threat. Jackson stepped away just so the doctor could crouch beside his head, but not too far. He watched the man carefully as he inspected Danny's wound. "It appears to be a rare form of aconite, mainly cultivated in the Appalachian range. I can administer a drug that will put him into a comatose state until his body fights it off." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a needle containing clear liquid.

"He'll be okay right? Nothing will be permanent?" he watched the needle slip into Danny's arm.

Deaton nodded and stood. Jackson watched Danny's eyes flutter close, his breath even. "I think he'll be safe out here. I presume you are returning to the battle?" His voice was as platonic as his face. Jackson couldn't gauge what the man was thinking, but it didn't matter at the time.

"Yeah, I am. What are you guys going to do? You'll get killed in there." He tore his eyes from his brother's comatose form.

Allison spoke up. Her lips pulled up into a dark grin, her eyes burning. "We're going hunting of course."

* * *

_Allison's POV_

Fury, a cold numb fury burned through her. It slid through her broken veins as easily as water, as thick as blood. Her heart was silent, not a whimper, not a sound escaped; it had given way to a darker essence. Her eyes were dark with blood lust, the unforgiving hellfire of vengeance alive in them. It was stronger even than the urge to kill Derek Hale had been, much more venomous. There would be no sense of mercy, no hesitation. Today Death would meet her eye and fear her hand, of that she was confident.

Allison crouched against the wall, her eyes sweeping the battle before her. The wolves were outnumbered three to one easily, and the hunters seemed to be gaining the advantage. She recognized who she thought to be Erica and Lydia backed into a corner while Scott was attempting to tear a path to them; Jackson (who had joined them only moments ago) was fighting alongside Derek. A shiver ran through her body. Isaac, Stiles, and Boyd were not there. Surely they couldn't be casualties. They were strong, resilient, and somewhat cunning. Her throat briefly clenched before she tightened her jaw and swallowed the emotion; there would be time for that later.

The sheriff crouched beside her, his eyes scanning the field below him. She noticed the taut muscles in his shoulders, the tightness of his irises. He no doubt noticed the absence of certain pack members. She resisted the urge to reach out to him, not yet anyway. They still had a pack to save. John peeked over at her, mirroring her look of disgust and anger. "How good a shot are you?"

Again her lip curled as she lifted her weapon, aiming below. "I'm the best." John raised an eyebrow, but she ignored him pointedly. Allison was well aware how callous and dark she sounded at the prospect of gunning down other humans, but she didn't care. This life, the life those monsters below had designed for her had cost her everything- love, happiness, her family. They didn't deserve her sympathy or mercy; not today. Today they would know vengeance and karma were nothing in comparison to the hate she held for them; today they would taste her fury.

She lined up her first shot, holding her breath. The first hunter stepped into her line of fire and she placed her finger on the trigger. Time seemed to slow, as it always did when she hunted. Her vision tunneled, focused purely on her prey. Her tongue darted out, running over her cracked and dry lips. She could hear her heart thudding in her chest, the blood roaring in her ears. The hunter seemed to turn, his eyes seeming to find her, though she knew that was impossible. Yet she grinned, displaying two rows of shiny, bloodthirsty teeth as her finger pressed the trigger.

Allison watched in morbid fascination as the bullet spun delicately through the air before slamming into his forehead. Brain matter splattered from the back of his shattered skull, dousing those surrounding him in red. She held his eyes, hoping that perhaps he really could see her in his dying moments. His knees gave way and he crumbled, a thick pool of blood already under him. She waited, knowing in the next second he would be gone forever.

Gradually the sounds of the fight reached her ears again and she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked over at the sheriff, Deaton, and Ms. Morell who were staring at her grimly. She released a deep breath, composing the fury she knew to be evident on her face. "If we survive we'll discuss this." Her voice sounded older, more mature even to her own ears. The adults seemed to accept her words and lined up targets of their own.

Allison turned back, watching as three more hunters fell. They could handle this well on their own, of that she was sure. She had to find the others; hopefully they'd be okay. _No, they are perfectly fine. _She forced the dark thoughts from her mind and stood silently. John threw her a knowing look, nodding quickly. She accepted his blessing before turning on her heels and disappearing.

* * *

_Isaac's POV_

Isaac groaned, pushing himself to his knees. Pain flared in his side and he bit back a strangled cry. His vision was swimming and his ears felt as if they'd been stuffed with wax. He took a deep, shuddering breath, closing his eyes as a wave of nausea pummeled him. His tongue felt heavy with the acrid taste of copper, his throat raw. His temples pounded relentlessly, and each inhale-exhale combo sent another stab of pain through him.

_What the hell happened? _He frantically racked his memory, but couldn't seem to conjure a valid explanation for his current predicament. He remembered searching for Stiles and running into the man that had almost killed him. He remembered the cattle rod being pressed relentlessly into his skin and being stabbed. Immediately at the thought his hand fluttered to his abdomen, fingers dancing over the sensitive area; it had healed somewhat. Yes, he remembered the realization that he may die…and then it all went black. Fuzzy shapes and noises danced through his head after that, making it hard to focus. _There had to be something more. Remember! _

He shook his head, trying to clear away the grogginess and forced himself to his feet. His leg seared and he promptly collapsed to his knees, crying out as he gripped the hurt limb. Swallowing bile, he pulled his hand away, staring in fear at the black ooze dripping from the wound. It smelled wrong, like death. He tore away at his pants leg, looking in horror at his leg. A four inch mark ran up his calf, dripping with the sickly substance. Black veins twirled from it, snaking up to his thigh. He watched as they seemed to pulsate, his leg growing heavier. It was if the limb was decaying.

Isaac hissed through his teeth, turning away from the stomach churning sight. He inhaled deeply through his nose, fighting the urge to vomit. The room he was in smelled of decaying flesh and evil. It was more like a stench, searing his nostrils. But underneath that was the faint smell of Stiles and his blood. Isaac whined in his throat, his throat tightening with tears. Somehow he knew, he just knew he'd failed to rescue his friend when he had the chance, and he wasn't sure he'd get another. _I failed. It's all my fault. _

A long, drawn out howl of agony rang through the building. It shook Isaac to his core, sending shivers up his spine as it morphed into an all too familiar human scream. _Lydia! _The thought of the vicious red head in that much pain brought him to his feet. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and limped from the room. He knew rationally that Lydia was not dead, but the fear gripping him refused to acknowledge that. He could not, would not allow another pack mate to die if he could help.

He stopped at the end of the hall, sweat pooling on his brow. His eyes widened, staring at the mass of mottled flesh at his feet. It was a man, or had once been a man. It looked like a hunk of shredded meat, the pale white of bone standing brilliantly against the red of meat and dried blood. Isaac gagged, his eyes tracing over the long gashes down his back, to his ankles that were cut to the bone, to his head that was nearly severed. _Did I…? _The thought sickened him and he hurried away from the corpse. There was no way he'd have done that; he'd have remembered. Yet he'd been in danger at the time, had probably blacked out in self defense…but he wouldn't have done that would he? The hunter hadn't been killed he'd been _butchered. _

Isaac stopped, leaning against the wall and gripping his leg tightly. He could feel the skin searing under his palm, but it felt like liquid arsenic had been injected into it. His cells were crying out in dire agony, and he could tell that his body healing wasn't helping. He felt a sudden twist in his gut, a pull and tug on him that could only mean one thing- Derek had transformed into his alpha form. He yearned with every fiber of his being to go to his alpha, felt an insatiable bloodlust well inside of him. His vision tinged and suddenly the pain in his leg meant nothing; all that mattered was getting to Derek.

He stumbled along, following his instinct rather than thinking about where he was going. He could hear the battle more clearly, could smell death walking across the floor. He could feel his pack, though Danny apparently wasn't anywhere inside the building. _At least he's alive. _Their scents felt different however, more animalistic than human. It confused hi, but it felt right. He continued to them, his mouth salivating at the thought of tearing into the flesh of hunters.

He suddenly faltered, a familiar scent coming his way, though it altered. It was a baseline floral scent mingled with the overwhelming odor that was purely Scott, but the edges were tinged with bitterness and anguish. Isaac stopped in his tracks, listening to the frantic heartbeat approaching. Allison came around the corner, skidding to a stop when she caught sight of him. He gasped, his chest tightening uncomfortably.

Isaac remembered the first time he'd seen Allison, long before he'd been involved with werewolves. He'd be stupid to say she wasn't stunning, but her beauty was natural, effortless. Her eyes sparkled with innocent mischief, her face glowing with pure inquiry and concern. She carried herself confidently, yet humbly, and it was obvious to everyone that she was fierce. But that was not the girl he was looking at now. Her eyes were dark, a desperate tangle of turmoil that seemed to zap the life from her. Her face was pale and cold, a grim fury etched into the dimples in her cheeks. Her normally neat hair was a wild tangle around her face which was cut and bruised. He could see the tiny rivulets of blood running from her body from fighting, but he could also smell blood that was not her own. He looked into her eyes and felt another wall slam against him at the guilt and hurt reflected in them, and knew what must have happened.

"Allison…" he started simply to have her shake her head and bite her trembling lip before steeling herself.

"Isaac we don't have much time. Where's Stiles?" her voice sounded dead to the world, yet as sharp as a two edged sword.

"I don't know. I- I think I blacked out or something. I remember fighting a hunter, and then waking up buried under rubble. But I think I found him, I really do." As he said the words he felt guilt press heavily against his ribcage. He'd been so close and had no idea what happened.

She reached out and grabbed his shoulder, squeezing lightly. When had she gotten that close? "Don't worry about it. Can you sense him at all?" he felt somewhat calm under her. She was handling this as a detached soldier rather than a friend of the victim. Isaac sighed, closing his eyes and doing his best to zero in on his pack mate. It wasn't that difficult; he could sense him just below.

"They're right below us…but someone else is there with them…another wolf." His voice trailed off as something flickered across Allison's face. "What? What is it?"

She turned and began running down the hallway immediately. Isaac quickly followed, ignoring the throb in his leg. "Damn it Isaac, it's a trap, all of it! Gerard set this up, set everything up. Whoever those other wolves are, they're working for him. We have to warn the pack."

His gut clenched. "What about Stiles? One of them is there right now." He felt anger ignite within him and once again tasted blood.

Allison never broke stride, but her face seemed to shut down. "I have a plan Isaac, but you'll have to help me."

* * *

_Stiles' POV_

Stiles struggled against the werewolves' grip on him. It was pointless for her grasp was unyielding, but he twisted nonetheless. Lydia's agonized scream echoed in his head, bouncing against his tender skull. He just had to get to her, had to protect her. All it earned him was feigned laughter as she released him and stepped back. The back of his head throbbed, but he ignored it, staring daggers at the crazy female. Her golden eyes were dancing in excitement, a wicked grin on her lips. "How cute, he's upset."

She stepped forward until he practically feels the heat rolling off of her. She reached out, roughly gripping his chin and jerking it to the side, running her nose up the length of his exposed neck. He shoved her away, his skin burning where she'd touched him. She grinned wider. "Besides the stench of dog he smells absolutely _pure._" The words rolled off her tongue smoothly. A malicious sneer replaced her grin and she spoke so softly her voice rang with a hiss. "I want him."

Stiles recoiled from her, disgust pooling in his gut. "Too bad I've already been spoken for." He snapped. There was no way in hell he was going to be anyone's plaything- not again. He shivered, the wolf before him blurring. Her obsidian black hair seemed to flicker red, her eyes startling blue. _Not again. Not ever again. _His stomach felt like lead, but he forced away his fears. He would not be a toy for a psycho, he would die first.

Her eyes flashed dangerously, her lip curling back over her canines threateningly. She reached out and grabbed his arm, crushing it in a powerful grip. He hissed under his breath, but held her gaze unflinchingly. "I don't believe you have a choice in the matter." Her voice sounded rough around her teeth, but that didn't lessen the impact; she'd take him by force if necessary. Stiles jerked away, instinctively reaching into his back pocket. His fingers curled around the small handgun and he thanked God for the little mercies. He pulled it out, aiming it between her eyes. "I think I do."

She snarled, but didn't attack him. Gerard chuckled, laying a restraining hand on her shoulder. His black eyes glittered evilly as he took in Stiles. He averted his eyes away from the monster, not wanting to get lost in the treacherous depths. "Well then Mr. Stilinski, by all means shoot if you must." His lips curled upward into a horrible sneer that paralyzed him.

He felt his resolve shaking…or was that his hands? His head felt empty and all he could hear was the sound of the blood roaring in his ears. His breath was coming quicker yet shallower, his knees wobbled dangerously. _Not now, no please not now. _He couldn't have a panic attack, not with psychopathic and murderous monsters right in front of him. Yet his vision began to tunnel, his chest quaking with the onslaught of emotion. His throat became dry and he stumbled back from them. A hand reached out and latched onto his arm and this time he could not hold back a gasp of pain when claws sliced through his skin. They pulled him closer and he began to struggle. "Let-let go…" he whispered.

Stiles felt himself slip from reality one second, and in the next he was on his bottom, leaning against the wall with his head between his legs. He peeked up, the sound suddenly amplified around him, everything intense. Isaac was crouched in front of him, the female wolf getting up from the ground and clutching at her arm which hung uselessly at her side. Allison was beside him, one hand rubbing smooth circles on the back of his neck, the other pointing a crossbow at Gerard.

"Are you okay Stiles?" She never looked at him, but her voice conveyed her concern. He struggled with an answer, staring at her in shock. She was bleeding from her face, from her side, but he could see it in the set of her jaw that she was bleeding on the inside too. The realization was enough to snap him from his daze. "Yeah, I'm perfectly fine."

The female wolf growled low in her throat, lunging for Isaac. Stiles watched the lanky teen spring and coil through the air, swiping out and catching her across the face. She jumped back as he went to deliver another blow, aiming low and sweeping his feet from underneath him. He crumbled to his side, grasping desperately at his leg. Stiles' stomach bottomed out when he took in the limb, the flesh mottled. The woman kicked him in the ribs, her eyes glinting. Allison jumped to her feet, turning her weapon on her instead when Gerard snarled and grabbed her and tossed her down the hallway. Her body hit the ground and rolled.

Gerard advanced on her as she struggled to her feet, but something was wrong. She hadn't picked up her weapon at all, was just standing there with her neck bared as he bore down on her. Stiles saw her shoot him a desperate look, a pleading glance that slapped him in the face. He heard a sickening crunch and turned to see Isaac standing over the woman, his hands stained crimson. The woman was gapping wordlessly, her eyes spinning wildly in her head. She clutched at her chest which-his stomach lurched at the sight- was cracked open. Isaac turned away from the dying traitor and instead watched as Gerard gripped Allison's neck and began to squeeze her neck before creeping closer.

Then he understood their plan. He understood what they meant to do, but his instincts screamed against it. Too many people had died, too much had been lost. He was not going to lose Allison. He stumbled to his feet, the corridor rocking. Allison locked eyes with him, her lips forming one word frantically: no. Stiles ignored it, aiming his weapon to fire into Gerard's back. His finger brushed the trigger and a hand shot out, ripping the gun away. He spun around and came face to face with Chris Argent's cold face. He raised a weapon of his own and fired. The bullet whizzed through the air and lodged itself inside of the man's shoulder. Gerard roared and released Allison. Isaac skirted around the monster and lifted her into his arms, carrying her back and away. "Stiles run!"

Stiles didn't hesitate, didn't question it. He spun on his heels, following after Isaac and Allison. Chris raised his weapon firing again, but he held his ground. He could hear Gerard's furious bellow, but didn't break stride. His only focus was getting through the door ahead, getting to the light and the sound of his pack. He could hear gunshots ricocheting off the cement, the sound of furious growls and snarls growing distant behind him yet he didn't slow until they were through a metal door.

They crashed into the large hanger and Stiles sucked in a large breath. He hadn't known what to expect, but he hadn't been expecting this. Broken bodies, mangled corpses, lifeless shells littered the ground. The walls and Earth was bathed in rich crimson, it's fingers thirstily drinking the precious liquid. The air was heavy with the stench of death, the humidity baking the bodies. Isaac grabbed his hand and dragged him away from the door, towards the center of the large room.

He reluctantly tore his eyes away and looked at his pack. It had come as somewhat of a shock when Isaac come to save him earlier as a real wolf. But now he was simply dizzy and it felt surreal. Lydia was leaning her back against a wolf with midnight black fur and electric blue eyes, her hand fisted in it. Her face was pale and she was clutching at her side which was stained red. She looked up at them warily, a smile flitting across her beautiful face before crumbling in pain. The wolf whined and pressed a pink nose against her shoulder and she absently rubbed its snout. Stiles assumed it could only be Jackson.

Something cool and wet bumped against his hand and Stiles jumped looking down at a tawny wolf. It ran its tongue up his palm, a low whine rumbling in its throat. It stared up at him with unbelievably cute brown eyes filled with concern. He released a breath and gently ran his hand over the soft fur. Scott purred under his hand, shuffling closer. A tiny gray wolf peeked at him shyly and he could assume it was Erica. The pack all seemed to be there…besides Danny and Boyd. His throat suddenly tightened and he looked around at the mounds of bodies as if he could find them.

"Danny's okay." Lydia whispered before sucking in a pained breath. He let the words sink in and felt a weight settle over him. His eyes immediately leapt to Erica who had seemed to shrink in on herself. Stiles knew it was irrational, but he felt guilty. He'd promised her they'd be okay, that Gerard would never hurt her again and in the end her mate was dead. He tried to imagine it, imagine Boyd gone but he simply couldn't.

Stiles sucked in a deep breath, determined to keep strong and sought out the last person he had to see. What he saw wasn't a person. His heart hammered against his ribcage and he faltered back, eyes growing round in amazement. The beast was larger than even Peter's alpha form had been, though it looked more animal than monster. Its pelt glistened, darker even than Jackson's. Its hind legs were built of pure muscle, the type that set unbeatable world records and made men cower. Its shoulders were broad and just as muscular, bristling with power. The eyes were hypnotizing, the pools of red and gold locked unto his. They held him rooted to the spot unable and surprisingly unwilling to move.

The beast stepped until it was in his personal space, gently rubbing its nose into his neck. He gasped at the wet feel of the nose. He closed his eyes and fisted his hands in the fur, his fingers tangled in the silk like pelt. The animal shuffled closer, humming contentedly. It ran a tongue up his neck and Stiles felt a jolt of electricity run though him. His grip tightened and he felt the heat of the large creature gradually disappear. The fur disappeared from his hands and he found himself gripping a tattered shirt. Warm arms wrapped around his abused body and lips pressed against his bruised skin. Stiles buried his face in the chest and released a dry sob. "Derek, oh god Derek." He couldn't begin to explain his relief to be in the man's arms again, to feel even the briefest moments of safety. But something prickled at the back of his mind. As if he'd forgotten something. It didn't take long to remember, too late.

In a perfect world he'd have had time to say more, to have remained there for just a minute longer. But they did not live in a perfect world. They lived in a town hell bent on destroying any semblance of love and peace. No, there would never be peace.

Lydia's scream echoed off the walls. They broke apart, instantly on the defensive, but it was too late. Lydia was on her knees, tears of fury in her eyes and pain on her face. One of Peter's wolves stood behind her, one hand at her throat and the other slightly piercing the back of her neck. Erica and Scott were back to back, dodging and weaving the traitor wolves as they lunged for them. Jackson was semi conscious in the hand of another; his only goal apparently was to connect to Lydia somehow. Isaac yelped as one grabbed him behind, slamming him to the ground. Allison was desperately trying to fight off one of her own, but in seconds she was pinned by the throat against a crumbling pillar. A second later and both Scott and Erica were caught as well, forced into their human form. Derek bared his teeth, allowing his eyes to bleed alpha red.

* * *

_Derek's POV_

Erica's eyes bore into his pleadingly. Her cheek was bleeding and one eye was swollen shut. Her neck was bruised and he could hear the frantic pound of her heart against her broken ribs. Scott was struggling against his captor, his face belying his pain and rage. Lydia was slowly slipping from them, hanging on to life by her fingertips; Jackson was not far behind. Isaac whimpered slightly, the wolf pressing down mercilessly on his injured leg. Allison was gasping for air, her life gradually fading. Derek's vision tinted red and he roared loudly.

The wolves reacted, tightening their hold on his pack threateningly. He bared his teeth, though made no move to attack. His wolf howled, thirsting to taste their blood, but his rational mind knew that if he attacked they all would die. His betas were being prevented from shifting and wouldn't be able to protect themselves. That was his job as alpha, and he'd failed. He should have known Gerard had another plan, should have sensed something off about the situation when Peter's wolves started to drop like flies. They were stronger than his pack, faster, more ruthless; killing the hunters should have been easy with minimal loss. But his mind had been elsewhere, focused on getting rid of the threat and finding Gerard and not on the trap laid out before him. He knew what was coming, could feel it.

A chill raced up his spine, the supernatural wind of death kissed the back of his neck. Derek turned slowly, grabbing Stiles and pulling him behind his back. The eyes were as black as the night itself and they burned with the fires of Hell. They burned into him, the glint of evil reflecting unashamedly through them. The monster bared his teeth, revealing jagged canines blackened at the roots and yellowed. He flexed his claws, blood coating the spindly fingers. Derek's eyes followed down to the limp body he dragged behind him. His stomach knotted, instantly recognizing the faint heartbeat of Christopher Argent. The man was little more than a bloodied pulp, three long claw marks running the length of his abdomen. Allison shrieked at the sight of her father.

Gerard grinned and dropped the man at his feet. "Derek Hale, we have some unfinished business." His voice was chilling; the temperature dropped a few degrees and the feeling of death washed over him again.

Derek's fists tightened. "I'm going to kill you, you bastard." He was shaking; his primal urge to eliminate the threat slowly encompassing his rational thought.

The monster chuckled. "You can try, though I assure you it will only end in the massacre of your pack and your mate. Your wolves are weak and defenseless Hale; they wouldn't be able to withstand the Hell I'd unleash on them. But by all means, attack if you wish."

Lydia whimpered, her captor sinking his claws into her throat and drawing droplets of blood. Her white face stared at him, her green eyes filled with terror. His chest tightened. "What do you want?" he whispered, never taking his eyes from Lydia's.

The man chuckled and Derek threw him a withering glare. "I see you've grown somewhat wiser since our last meeting. A good thing, I promise you. You can clearly see that a darker transformation has taken course hear, thanks to Mr. McCall." He hissed the name and glared daggers at Scott. "The problem is that it won't last forever; the only thing somewhat keeping me alive is the mutated wolf genes."

Realization punched him in the gut and Derek's insides curled at what he was insinuating. "You want me to heal you." The words felt thick on his tongue. He knew what that would mean. The mountain ash in Gerard's system was poison to anyone that came into contact with his blood, if Isaac's leg was anything to go by. If he used his alpha powers to heal him Derek would die. He felt Stiles' hand grip his arm, as if holding him there. It took sheer will power not to look back at him.

Gerard took a small step towards him. "I want more than healing. I want retribution. I want to avenge my daughter." His lip curled at the mention of Kate, the woman who had inevitably set these wheels in motion. His instincts screamed at him to just rip the man's throat out, but something held him back. He'd promised his pack protection and a chance at a life nothing like their menial human ones. He'd promised a home and sanctuary to the broken teens and they'd found it, finally found it. Derek knew then what it meant to feel hopeless. He couldn't tale that from them, no matter the cost.

He sighed and stepped away from Stiles' grip. "I'll make a deal with you. Let my pack go. Promise me that they can walk out of here and you'll let them live in peace. Do that and I-I'll do anything you want."

"Derek no!"

"You can't Derek, you can't."

"He'll kill us either way, don't be stupid." His pack yelled in unison. Their protests only added to his resolve. They didn't understand yet, but hopefully one day they would. One day, if they could forgive him, they'd realize that sacrifices were meant to happen for the greater good. And as Derek took in the distressed faces of his pack he knew that _this _was the greater good.

"Do we have a deal?" he kept the emotion out of his voice, tuning out their yells of protest.

Gerard's answering smile was malevolent. "I think that can be arranged." He raised his wrist, the same one Derek had been forced to bite him what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Derek sucked in a deep breath, taking a step forward and wrapping his hands around the cold skin. He felt the familiar warmth tingling in his fingers, slowly warming the skin, before stabs of pain began to rock his body. He heard the distressed cry of his pack but did not release his grip. The poison began to flow languidly through his palms. His palms burned, the skin singeing. He hissed, as the pain seeped up his arm. He could feel it wrapping around his cells like a cocoon, swimming in his veins. His knees began to quiver and he sank to them unwillingly at the onslaught. He could feel the power in Gerard changing, increasing as the poison was drained from him.

He coughed, black liquid spewing from his mouth and dribbling down the front of his body. His wolf protested, wanting more than anything to let go and escape. But he couldn't; Derek refused to let his pack suffer. The first stab to his heart had him roaring in agony; the poison had at last reached his heart. The organ stalled for a moment before picking up in intensity, thudding mercilessly with a passion. His body felt like it had been lit on fire from the inside, and he was slowly incinerating on the spot. But he held on tighter, refusing to let go and sacrifice the lives of the teenagers behind him.

"Stop it, you're killing him!" Stiles voice broke through his haze. There was a soft thwack of something against flesh and Gerard hissed. The arm he was desperately grasping snatched away and he crumbled, coughing up the mountain ash. His body was working overtime trying to heal itself and beat the poison, but it was difficult. He managed to peek through his lids and see Gerard bearing down on Stiles, his claws raised.

"Stiles, run!" he gasped out, clutching at his chest. The teen looked at him defiantly, his eyes clouded over with thick emotion. He raised the collapsible crossbow (Derek assumed he'd grabbed it from one of the dead hunters) and fired again at the monster. He tried to stand, but his legs refused to work. There was a sharp intake of breath and Derek's heart stuttered. Gerard and Stiles were standing chest to chest, his hand buried deep in the boy's stomach. With a triumphant gleam in his eyes he ripped his hand up and out. Stiles' heart fluttered, his hands flying to his wounds and eyes glistening with tears. The boy met his eyes and sucked in a deep breath before collapsing.

* * *

_Scott's POV_

"Stop it you're killing him!" Stiles screamed. He dived for a discarded weapon at his feet, raising it and shooting at Gerard. Scott watched the arrow zip through the air and sink into the man's shoulder. Gerard roared and snatched his arm from Derek's hands, his black eyes landing on Stiles. Derek looked up, his face contorted in desperation. "Stiles, run!" But even Scott could tell his warning came too late. The next second Stiles was lying at Gerard's feet, bleeding out before his eyes.

Time slowed and ceased to mean anything. Scott stared dumbfounded at the small, abused body of his best friend. _My brother. _He thought. The teen's heart sluggishly thumped, a small pool of blood under him. _My brother is dying. _The effect was instantaneous. He felt an uncontrollable surge of power, of hate, of thirst for revenge. It coursed through his veins, slamming at the fragile spirit he'd held onto for so long. His eyes were glued to the body of his friend and he snapped.

Scott threw his head back and roared. A dark, unforgiving rage clenched at his heart. Heat flooded his body, more intense than he'd ever felt and his vision was bathed in crimson. He felt his canines dig through his gums, his nails elongate. His body expanded, his muscles ripping and giving way to new, stronger ones. He pushed backward, feeling the wolf hold him stumble back.

He stood to his feet, his lip curling back over his teeth. He spun around, finding his target and pounced. He dug his claws into the man's chest and tore, ripping at his skin. The wolf threw him off, swiping out with his claws and barely catching him in his thigh. Scoot wasted no time dwelling on the ache, he just attacked again, bringing both of his fists down on the wolf's forehead. He howled and stumbled back clutching at the broken skin. Scott dived for him and sank his hand deep into his chest. He wrapped his fingers around the wolf's heart and tugged harshly. With a sickening suction sound it came out and he tossed it on top of the body.

Scott turned, his wolf hungry for more. Derek had regained some kind of strength, or maybe it was just fury. Whichever the cause, he was locked in heated combat with Gerard, the two tearing at each other relentlessly. He saw his pack mates struggling, their eyes glowing gold and acting on instinct howled. The other teens paused before something flickered across their faces. Lydia met his eyes and nodded, something dark in the irises. He felt their spirits shift and suddenly it was an all out brawl between the wolves. He rushed to Allison's aid, throwing the man holding her to the ground. The wolf rolled and attempted to stand before Allison plunged a katana between his shoulder blades.

* * *

_Derek's POV_

Scott's eyes had changed. The light burn of red in them was unmistakable, yet his wolf did not react to the new alpha. Instead it drew strength from it and he found himself locked in combat with Gerard. He couldn't feel the effects of the mountain ash at the moment, and even if he could he didn't care. All he cared about was killing the monster and getting to his mate who was barely holding on. _I promised to keep you safe. I promised you wouldn't get hurt. _He thought about their encounter shortly before entering the complex. What should he have said to make this right? What could he have said? _I won't let you die. I can't lose you._

Gerard clawed him across his face. Derek felt the skin open and the blood start to flow before his body sluggishly healed them. Gerard was strong, but he wasn't an alpha; today he would meet his maker. Derek dropkicked him, his wolf grumbling at the sound of his ribcage collapsing. He didn't waste any time rushing forward and slamming his knee into the man's face again and again, until he could practically feel the skull fracturing. Derek couldn't control himself anymore as he unleashed his fury on him. He thought about his house up in flames, of the screams of his family. He remembered the cold vice that took him under when they'd ran to the other side of the country to escape the disaster that was their life. He saw Laura's lifeless body, Kate's tested grin, the faces of everyone affected by his very existence. Stiles. He saw Stiles looking up at him with that shit eating grin and challenging eyes. He saw the boy's eyes fill with too much emotion for one person to harbor. He felt his body snuggled against his in sleep, his lips gently teasing against his own. Everything he loved was stolen.

Derek felt several pairs of strong arms grab him and pull him away. He swallowed, shaking and not even realizing he'd been crying. He couldn't shake away the pain he'd been holding in for so long, it refused to shut down. Through bleary eyes he saw Peter and a smaller woman standing over Gerard's lifeless body. The hands released him and he sucked in a long, stuttering breath.

"Derek Stiles needs you." A small voice whispered. He turned, taking in his pack. They were beat up, but they were alive and leaning against one another. Allison was kneeling before her father, a sheen of tears in her eyes; Derek could no longer hear his heart. Scott, John, and Deaton were kneeling around Stiles. _Stiles. _He moved towards them, dropping to his knees and pulling the teen against his chest.

Stiles' eyes fluttered, finding him. He grinned weakly. "Heeeyyyy sour wolf." His voice was rough and thick with pain.

Derek growled fiercely. "Damn it Stiles why would you do that? Do you mean to kill yourself?" Though he tried, there was no anger in his voice, only raw fear and sadness.

The kid gripped his hand, or rather he tried to. "I was doing what I had to do. I'll save your furry ass no matter what." His tone dropped and his eyes slid closed.

"Stiles? Stiles!" Derek shook him, launching into a panic. He pressed his ear against the bloodied chest, desperately seeking out any sign of life. It was there, the faintest of heartbeats, but it was fading.

Scott's eyes flashed that delicate shade of red again. "Derek do something! He's not going to make it." His voice broke and he desperately grabbed Stiles' hand squeezing. "Come on man, don't die on me!"

Derek understood what he meant instantly, but he shot his eyes to the sheriff first. "John this will only work if I have your blessing. I need you to accept that once I bite him he won't be the same person anymore."

The sheriff met his eyes coldly. "You do what you must to save my son."

He didn't need any more invitation. He tore away the remainder of the boy's shirt and bit down into the juncture between his throat and shoulder. The skin gave way easily; the blood gushed warmly over his tongue. He willed it to work, willed the transformation to take. He pulled back and waited. Stiles' eyes flew open and he opened his mouth to emit a long, agonized scream. His back arched off of the ground, his body twisting this way and that. Derek could hear the rapid thud, but he could tell something wasn't right. His eyes rolled in the back of his head, exposing the whites. His skin drained of color and nose began to bleed profusely. His body was rejecting the bite, and there was nothing he could do about it. And just as suddenly as it started it stopped and his body slumped back to the ground, silent.

Derek felt the rest of the pack pressing in around him, though they were keeping their distance. He didn't flinch when Isaac fled the building, Erica close behind. Jackson was a statue, his face staring in disbelief, his eyes wide and leaking with tears yet he didn't make a sound. Lydia was in hysterics, sobbing and trembling on the floor. Allison had joined them, wrapping her arms around Scott's torso and burying her face in his back, sobs wracking her body. Scott ignored her, crushing Stiles' fingers in his hand; Derek could hear every bone crack under the pressure. And then there was John. John who was staring at Derek with nothing less than hate. He'd promised to keep him alive and he'd failed. He'd always failed. Derek hung his head in defeat, willing the Earth to swallow him whole and drag him to Hell. It all meant nothing anymore, not without him. He closed his eyes, feeling that piece of him, the last thing holding him together rip away. Somehow he found himself curled around the body, hugging him to his chest. He refused to believe it, refused to accept that he was gone. But the silent heart rang with truth.


	29. Epilogue (little by little)

_**One Month Later**_

The autumn leaves fell in steady torrents on the ground. The winds were harsher this time of year; people walking with scarves and sweaters. November was a cruel month in California. Yet despite this the sun shone down brilliantly on the Earth, batting its eyes at the people.

Derek stretched, sipping from his coffee and let his eyes scan over the woods. It was beautiful, a paradise. Creatures scampered around the grass, playing with one another. A little farther away he could see Jackson and Danny lightly training, or in better words tossing each other around in a juvenile game of tag. He could hear Lydia, Erica, and Allison inside the kitchen making Thanksgiving dinner. Scott, Isaac, and Iris were in the living room playing videogames and gently teasing each other. Peter sat out on the porch, his nose buried in a book. It was nice, it was easy, and it felt like home.

He sighed and returned inside, his stomach rumbling at the smell of pies baking. Lydia ducked out of the kitchen, a coy grin on her lips. "I heard that and even if you are the Alpha you have to wait."

Derek cocked an eyebrow and tossed her a shit eating grin. "I am the alpha and I can easily just take it." Lydia gently rapped him on the arm with her spoon and spun back into the kitchen. He poked his head in and sniffed appreciatively. Allison caught his eye and smirked, shaking her head. He returned it, before ducking back out. The girl was still beautiful, despite the scar that would forever mar her milk white neck.

He passed by the living room and Isaac offered a smile as he lost to Scott (again). Scott whooped in victory and Isaac tackled him to the floor. Iris shook her head at the two, her lips curled fondly. She caught his eye and winked before watching the duo. The teen boys were laughing as they fought, though both were cautious of Isaac's leg which was still healing.

Derek shook his head at their antics and continued upstairs to his bedroom. Every wolf in the pack had their own room just in case they needed to crash. He'd made a strict policy of girls in their own rooms (which they'd all bitched about forever) and boys in theirs. On the weekends there was always three pack members there, including Allison. She'd moved in with Lydia after everything had happened, hanging up her hunter gear for good.

He pushed the door open and closed t behind him. The window was open, allowing the breeze and smells of the wood to coat the room in its luscious scent. The sun was shining softly through it, gently highlighting the fixtures. Derek kicked off his shoes and climbed into bed, shuffling and throwing his arm around the small body beside him. Stiles turned over and kissed him sleepily. "Morning."

Derek rolled his eyes and returned the kiss, brushing his hair from his eyes. "It's three in the afternoon."

Stiles laughed and made to sit up, wincing. His hands flew to his stomach and he sucked in a deep breath. Derek reached out and gently coaxed him back on his back, careful to avoid the stitches. "Sorry, guess I shouldn't move so fast yet."

"You don't have to apologize for being in pain Stiles. You're only human." Derek pressed his lips against the tender flesh of his abdomen. His heart seizing, remembering the moment he'd almost lost everything.

Stiles ran a hand through his hair. "It's not my fault I'm immune to the Bite. Deaton told you that my spark is a lot more powerful than we originally thought."

"I know, I know. I just hate that you aren't healed yet. I have to be careful…" he trailed his lips up, catching Stiles'. He gently bit on his bottom lip, his tongue asking for access. Stiles flushed pink and wound his arms around his neck, responding enthusiastically. Derek gripped his hip and began nibbling on his neck. The boy gasped, fisting his hair. Derek grinned against his skin and pulled away, raising an eyebrow. "No Stiles. It's not happening."

The boy scowled. "Oh come on."

"Nope. Your father already threatened to shoot me once, it's not happening again." He rolled off of him, grinning at the memory.

"And let's not forget you have a house full of wolves with super hearing!" Scott yelled angrily from downstairs. They laughed and Stiles snuggled against him again. "Okay I'll behave. Just lay with me for a while."

Derek closed his eyes, curling an arm around his waist and inhaling his scent deeply. "I'm not leaving you for a long time. Count on it."

**Author's Note: Okay we are finished! Sniffle sniffle! I honestly didn't think we'd make it to this point. When writing the last two chapters I was torn between Stiles dying or not. Well, clearly you've seen my preferred ending. If you want the alternate ending I can post it separately. But anyway, I want to thank to all for reading and following along. Honestly it's been an amazing ride. I think my next move will be to write a back story about Derek and Kate, because I don't know it's just been on my mind. Tell me if you're interested and thanks again for reading! Oh yeah, I encourage you to listen to Guardian Angel (Red Jumpsuit Apparatus) and Heaven (Theory of a Deadman) because they are the songs I based this story after. **


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